


Hush money, baby

by silvervelour



Series: Hush money, baby [1]
Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: A little bit angsty but we’ll have a happy ending, Call girl Vanessa, F/F, Nina is Brooke’s right hand woman, Rich business woman Brooke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-04-06 03:53:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19054705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvervelour/pseuds/silvervelour
Summary: “Call girl, right?”. Brooke checks, despite her certainty.“Correct-“. Nina nods.“-She’s good, I’m sure. An old friend of Yvie’s, apparently. Pay her a nice bit on the side, she’ll keep quiet”. She reassures.Brooke might believe her, but turns her nose up regardless. She’s sceptical, always is when a break in routine is suggested, and picks up the card, analyses it further. There’s nothing more to find - it’s plain black, gold embossed lettering - and she slots it wordlessly into her purse, drops said purse back onto the bar.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> New things! New stuff! Hi!
> 
> This was inspired by the wonderful idea that is rich sugar mama Brooke, and the countless times Vanessa has referred to herself as a stripper. I switched it around a bit and this is the result!! I don’t know how many parts it’ll be yet, and I’ve switched up my writing a little because I ? Wanted to ?? It’s fun!
> 
> With that said, let me know what you think!! <3

Brooke’s life has grown monotonous, and Nina calls her out on it.

They’re sat at a cocktail bar. Brooke’s drinking her fifth martini and Nina’s already drained half a bottle of wine. They’re drunk, there’s no denying it, and are laughing amongst themselves, drawing the unwarranted attention of a clang of men in suits across the room. Nina scowls at them; Brooke continues drinking like she doesn’t care. 

She thinks that maybe it’s because it’s true. She looks _good_ \- made up in her silk green camisole dress, heels that extend her legs enticingly, freshly styled blonde hair - and so what if she gets a little male attention that she doesn’t want, she decides. She looks good enough to have earned it. 

Nina still glares, but Brooke orders another cocktail. She flags down the bartender, tips him a twenty, because she can. He serves her before he serves anybody else - Brooke let’s herself laugh at his evident awe, thinks he must be new on the job - and stumbles away with a hopeful smile, a blush tinting his cheeks. 

“Does that never get tiring?”. Nina quirks an eyebrow.

“What?”. Brooke deadpans.

She doesn’t have to ask, but she does so anyway. Nina rolls her eyes, Brooke doesn’t tell her not to, and points towards the bartender who’s serving another customer already, the men huddled around a table in the corner of the room that point, whisper, grin.

“Having all of these offers from people on the table but never accepting any of them”. Nina says accusatory. 

“I don’t like men, Nina”. Brooke sips at her glass.

“I mean the _women_ , too”. Nina says it like it’s obvious.

To Brooke, it is, but Nina doesn’t know that. She regards Nina with a smirk, shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly. Nina sighs into her glass of wine, blinks up at the ceiling and mutters _god help me_. Brooke laughs further, fishes out the olive from her glass between her thumb and forefinger, daintily, and bites it with her front teeth. She gets a smudge of lipgloss on her thumb, though doesn’t fret about removing it. Nina seems more concerned than she is about the matter, and hands her a tissue.

“The women are just as bad. You know that”. Brooke waves her away. 

“You could have anybody-“. Nina drawls.

“-Anybody in this room, anybody outside of it. And you want _none_ of them?”. She thanks the wine for erasing her filter. 

Shaking her head, Brooke puts her foot down. She doesn’t want them, has never wanted them. They don’t do it for her - their pompous attitudes and pockets deeper than their souls make her want to gauge her eyes out - and she’s glancing warningly at nina, tapping her nails against her glass.

“It’s not worth it. Too many ties involved. Too much potential to fuck up”. Brooke summarises. 

She tells Nina only what she knows to be true. There’s too much at risk. Brooke doesn’t want to be another to succumb to temptation; she’s watched colleagues at her firm fall from the highest of pedestals for jumping into bed with the wrong person, turning a blind eye just long enough for speculations to form and contracts to be shredded. 

Brooke owns half of her company, Nina should know her better than to think she’d dangle that by a loose thread. 

“What if you found somebody who didn’t know? Somebody who would know just Brooke”. Nina proposes.

Brooke grimaces, shakes her head.

“They always know-“. Brooke starts.

“-And if they don’t, then they’ll find out. There’s a clock to these things, and mine only has one hand”. She lifts her glass back to her mouth. 

She sips at it until it’s empty, feels the burn of the gin trickling down the back of her throat. It’s nice, Brooke likes it. She’s ordered another before Nina has a response ready, the same bartender as flustered as before. She thanks him with a smile, this time, calls him _darling_ because she can. She has ten years on him, easily, could buy his entire existence with only the money folded in her wallet. 

“I think you’re keeping your options too slim”. Nina proclaims.

Brooke scoffs, pours Nina another glass of wine before she can protest. Brooke needs her drunk, more drunk than she already is if she’s going to deal with her for another hour, at least. She counts herself lucky when Nina doesn’t argue back, props her elbow on the bar surface in front of her, instead.

“Please, I think I’ve exhausted all of them-”. Brooke admits. 

“-I’ll start looking for somebody when I’m retired. Find some old white guy that won’t complain about upping and leaving for a villa somewhere in Europe. It’ll be nice”. She concludes, stares directly down at her red manicured nails. 

She’s convincing, Nina will give her that - or she would be, if Nina didn’t know Brooke like the back of her hand - and is narrowing her eyes when Nina barks out a laugh. Placing her hand on top of Brooke’s that rests on the base of her glass, Nina squeezes.

“You’re funny-“. Nina nods.

“-You’d never do that”. She emphasises.

Brooke shrugs. She wouldn’t, ever, wouldn’t even consider it, but the thought is there, and it’s one that becomes more probable with each day that passes in which she spends hours on end holed up in her office, the numbers in her bank climbing higher than they ever have whilst her personal life swirls down the drain. She’s not complaining; she’s worked hard, doesn’t care for another person to drag along with her. 

“Maybe not-“. Brooke points out.

“-But it’s better than whatever you’re about to suggest”. She cocks an eyebrow. 

Nina can’t lie. She’s never been able to. Her face gives away too much for Brooke not to be able to pick up on it. She tries biting at the insides of her cheeks - it never works, Brooke’s told her to give up on many an occasion - and twists uncomfortably in her seat. Brooke reaches out a further hand to stop her from toppling and nearly falls with her in the process. She’s had enough to drink but doesn’t know when to stop. 

“Listen, all I was going to suggest was-“. Nina heaves in a breath. 

“-Look, you’ve fucked friends before. Do it again, if you have to. It’s never sent you far wrong”. She offers.

Brooke looks offended, and then smug. She trails a featherlight touch up Nina’s arm, curls her fingers around her bicep. She clenches the softness of it beneath her palm, hums when Nina tugs the lapels of her blazer closer to her chest. Brooke knows what she’s doing, and Nina does, too. She tells her _no_ with a single flutter of her lashes, nods towards the ring on her left hand.

“That’s not what I’m saying-“. Nina chuckles.

“-You know we can’t, I’m married now”. She turns the ring on her finger, watches it glint in the low light of the room.

“ _Hm_ -“. Brooke licks across her top lip.

“-I keep forgetting. How long until you plan on filing for divorce, again?”. Brooke winks. 

She can’t fault Nina’s intelligence, no matter how much she lacks common sense. She has all of the brains that make her Brooke’s right hand woman, every ounce of charm that ensures she can drain any man that she sets her eyes on. Her current is the third, Brooke recalls, and she’s proud of her. Nina looks like she’s proud of herself. 

“Give it a couple of months. Three at most”. Nina deliberates.

“Citing irreconcilable differences?”. Brooke checks.

“Of course-“. Nina smirks.

“-I think I have a _bit_ more to do until he decides it’s enough too, but I’m getting there”. She straightens her posture. 

Brooke doesn’t doubt her for a second. She’s gotten Brooke out of situations that she didn’t think she’d be able to crawl back from. Her mind works in ways that Brooke’s doesn’t, and Brooke appreciates her for it each time she narrowly avoids a collision with the wrong people, individuals and groups alike who were and still are out to get her, to an extent. 

They’re both smart, they are, but Nina, Brooke thinks, Nina is what drives her. It’s a dynamic that she knows she’d be at a loss without - she makes no secret of it, she needs Nina as much as Nina needs a name like Brooke’s at her side - and raises her glass. _Cheers_. They clink them together. 

“I have another idea-“. Nina adds after another sip.

“-But you won’t like it. Actually, I think you might think I’m delusional”. Nina chuckles. 

Brooke might. She very well might, but nods her head, gives Nina the green light that she’d been seeking. Nina takes in a breath, reaches into the pocket of her blazer, and presents a card that Brooke scowls at. She places it down onto the bar with a slap, watches it drown in a droplet of martini that Brooke had spilt. The card is expensive enough that the ink doesn’t smudge. 

“Is this-“. Brooke starts, doesn’t get to finish.

“Yes-”. Nina ticks a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“-It is, and I think you should consider it”. She doesn’t say it like she’s joking.

She’s being deadly serious. There’s no hint of humour in her voice, and she slides the card closer to Brooke. 

A phone number. 

The letter _V_. 

Brooke doesn’t have to be a genius to work it out. She’s been in the world of the elite long enough to know what business cards like this are made for, specifically; Nina is suggesting it to her brazenly, in a crowded Upper East Side bar, with the bar tender staring at them as if they’ve just turned water into wine.

Nina thinks they might have.

“Call girl, right?”. Brooke checks, despite her certainty. 

“Correct-“. Nina nods.

“-She’s good, I’m sure. An old friend of Yvie’s, apparently. Pay her a nice bit on the side, she’ll keep quiet”. She reassures.

Brooke might believe her, but turns her nose up regardless. She’s sceptical, always is when a break in routine is suggested, and picks up the card, analyses it further. There’s nothing more to find - it’s plain black, gold embossed lettering - and she slots it wordlessly into her purse, drops said purse back onto the bar. 

“And you had this card because?”. Brooke beams, smirks widely. 

Nina hushes her, assures that she’d never dialled the number stamped onto the rectangle of paper, but laughs along drunkenly. They continue, without another word, and three hours later, Brooke floats home, thanks her driver with a tip that she slips into his pocket.

She doesn’t give the card in her purse a second thought. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That won’t be an issue-“. Brooke commands her attention.
> 
> It has V intrigued.
> 
> “-Whatever your best client pays, I’ll top it. No questions asked”. She finishes.
> 
> It really isn’t an issue. Brooke keeps telling herself that she isn’t stupid, and she isn’t, not by a long shot. She’s clever, educated, and knows that she could pay double, triple this woman’s highest paying member of clientele if she so wished to.
> 
> And she might, if she’s worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another ch!! I just want to say thank you so so much for the lovely response on the first part of this - I didn’t expect that kind of reaction at all.
> 
> I have a fair bit of this written, and the ch’s are shorter than what I usually write, so I’ll probably get them posted quite often!! 
> 
> I hope you like it!!<3

Brooke has a stressful day at work a week or so later, ends it in Nina’s office with a bottle of wine.

They split it between them - Nina jokes about becoming _grape dependant_ , Brooke doesn’t find it funny - and are tipsy by the end of the hour. Brooke’s still unhappy. She’s angry, disappointed, repentant. Nina had given her a once over when she’d stepped into the room; Brooke was spilling her guts onto the hard word floors before she knew it.

A case gone wrong.

Employees that she neglects to remember the names of getting figures confused. 

An honest mistake - perhaps, she thinks - but one that has left a vital investor hanging off of a cliffs edge, none the less. Brooke would be out for blood if it wasn’t for Nina, again, fixing what she daren’t touch. Everything is fragile, Brooke hates it, and swigs down the rest of her glass. Nina’s typing away on her computer throughout. She glances up at Brooke after ten minutes of silence with a nod of her head.

It’s done. 

“All is in order”. Nina confirms, short smile and professional lilt. 

“Positive?”. Brooke checks. 

She needs to know. She trusts Nina more than she’s able to put into words, but she’s only human. She makes mistakes. She’s done so before, though they’ve never landed the both of them in a worse position than they’d begun in. Still, it’s not something she wants to have to deal with, or explain to her colleagues. Not at six o’clock on a Wednesday. 

Not ever.

“Investors are in. Donors are signing as we speak”. Nina clicks out of her emails.

“Ok, good-“. Brooke sighs, crosses her legs.

The point of her heel hits the oak of the desk in front of her, and she flinches. Nina grimaces for her, too, but reaches for the bottle of wine to give herself a top up before Brooke’s able to say anything. She doesn’t want to hear it; Brooke gathers as much when Nina unbuttons the restrictive hooks of her blazer, breathes evenly. 

“-That’s great, thank you”. She praises.

Nina merely nods her head courteously. It goes unspoken between them as it often does. They clear up each other’s damage, control it with an ease that they both know their contemporaries envy.

It’s why they’re the best, Nina tells her, midway through the dregs of what will be her last glass of red. 

“Like I always say, don’t worry-“. Nina chastises.

“-We’ve got this, you and I”. She affirms.

“I know-“. Brooke hums.

And she does know. There’s not an ounce of doubt in her body. Nina’s smoothing out non existent creases in her pencil skirt when she stands, crosses the room to retrieve her overcoat. She places a hand on Brooke’s shoulder in passing and squeezes. Brooke straightens her spine as if on command, catches herself. 

_Always_ catches herself. 

“-It’s been a long day. Sorry”. It’s a meek apology.

Nina’s looking at her like she’s sure she doesn’t mean it, and she’s right. Brooke doesn’t apologise - not to her colleagues, her friends, certainly not the one woman that she relies on - and pretends that she’d never said it. 

Nina doesn’t question her further. 

“ _So_ -“. Nina tries.

She glides from one topic to another effortlessly. Brooke wishes that it had been a talent that she’d been gifted with. There’s never a beat that she’s unable to fill, never a moment of awkwardness that she’s unable to dissipate with her charm.

_Charm_. 

Brooke watches Nina shrug on her coat, balance herself against the edge of her desk, her briefcase already in hand. She stares Brooke down, through her reading glasses still sat on the tip of her nose. She peels them away - they’ve left indentations between her brows, Brooke notices - and uses her free hand to grasp Brooke’s chin. 

It’s gentle. Nina’s always gentle, and she tilts Brooke’s face up to look at her, really look at her. Brooke feels herself shrinking. 

“-You’re still tense”. She remarks.

Brooke is. She doesn’t verbalise it, understands that she doesn’t have to. 

“I’ll go home, bring Brooke back in tomorrow”. Brooke nods. 

She’ll bring herself back in. Nina knows what she’s insinuating. The woman sat before her isn’t Brooke. It never is after a shake to the foundations of what they’ve built. She needs time, and she’ll get it; Nina relents after arching her brow and kissing her teeth for good measure. 

“Sure-“. Nina drops her hand.

Brooke stands too, then, picks up her respective briefcase. Her palms are sweaty, and if Nina notices, Brooke’s thankful that she doesn’t mention it. She’s glad for all that Nina doesn’t say, until it forces itself out.

“-You didn’t call that number I gave you, did you?”. Nina points a finger. 

_No_. 

Stiffening, Brooke tells her so. She hasn’t, hasn’t given it so much as a second thought since she moved the card from her purse to her wallet, tucked it behind her drivers license. She tells herself the action had meant nothing but knows herself well enough to understand that she’s not fooling anybody. Not Nina, especially. 

“I didn’t”. Brooke follows Nina to the door when she begins walking.

“Well-“. Nina huffs.

“-I think you should. If not for your sake, for mine”. She nods.

Brooke takes it as a farewell, and then Nina’s gone, is telling security to lock up after them over her shoulder. She struts out of the building in her heels, flags down her driver before Brooke even makes it to the exit. She exudes the same power that Brooke knows she herself does too, and looks on approvingly, proudly. 

She contemplates Nina’s words, briefly, and decides that she’ll take her advice, maybe. Possibly. 

If not for her sake, for Nina’s.

*****

Brooke calls the number, and it’s different. 

There’s no pretence when the woman on the other end of the line picks up - she jumps right in, asks Brooke if she’s interested in hearing something - and Brooke clenches her fists. Her voice is deep, Brooke doesn’t want to admit that it’s nice, enticing, and curls her toes into the blanket at her feet.

She’s in bed. It’s eight o’clock on a Wednesday, and she’s in bed. Her blankets feel too heavy to begin with, but then not heavy enough when the woman keeps talking. She’s asking Brooke what she wants from her; Brooke doesn’t even think that she’s come to that conclusion for herself, yet. 

Left to her own devices, without Nina’s constant supervision, Brooke knows she’s difficult. Her decisions take twice as long as they normally do, which is long, anyway, and become drawn out endeavours. Brooke’s preparing to open her mouth when the woman sighs. She’s bored. Brooke thinks the woman probably has her down as a cold caller.

“Times ticking”. The woman, _V_ , goads.

Brooke isn’t blind, she can see the seconds rolling by one her phone screen. V acts like she’s the only person that matters in their conversation - Brooke guesses that she might have a point - and clicks her tongue against her teeth. 

Brooke doesn’t like it, but then she’s answering and none of it matters. If it does, Brooke wipes it from her mind. 

“One night. I pick the hotel. You turn up and never breathe a word of it to _anybody_ -“. Brooke asserts.

“-Got it?”. She snarls.

She’s being harsh. She knows she is. Her words come out brash, unforgiving, but V hums affirmatively and wipes each doubt from her mind with a sigh that breezes down the line. Brooke shivers, turns into the pillow beneath her head, waits for a response that takes seconds to arrive. 

“Got it-“. V chuckles. 

“-As long as _you’ve_ got it?”. She paraphrases.

“Meaning?”. Brooke rolls her eyes. 

Brooke likes straight talking. Riddles aren’t something that she has time for. So far, V seems like a conundrum that she’s never going to solve, and she’s not certain that she wants it even as she agrees to it. Nina’s voice rings in the back of her mind, tells Brooke that she’s a glutton for punishment. 

“Meaning, let’s talk _money_ , baby. My schedule all depends on it, you should know that”. V elaborates. 

It’s nothing that Brooke hadn’t been expecting. She knows how these things work despite having never ventured into them herself - she’s been around people who have, people who still do - and is nodding numbly. V can’t see her, no matter how much Brooke wishes that she could, and she clears her throat, straightens out her legs.

“That won’t be an issue-“. Brooke commands her attention.

It has V intrigued. 

“-Whatever your best client pays, I’ll top it. No questions asked”. She finishes.

It really isn’t an issue. Brooke keeps telling herself that she isn’t stupid, and she isn’t, not by a long shot. She’s clever, educated, and knows that she could pay double, triple this woman’s highest paying member of clientele if she so wished to. 

And she might, if she’s worth it.

“In that case-“. V projects.

“-Nine tomorrow. Your choice of hotel. You pay half when you get there and half when you leave. Do we got a deal?”. It rolls off of her tongue. 

In her mind, Brooke’s already said yes. She verbalises it, just for V, logs that Nina would be patting her on the back in triumph. She can feel the phantom touch, forces the thought of it away. V is more patient this time - Brooke assumes it’s because she knows that Brooke is serious, now - and gives her the reigns.

“Yeah, deal”. Brooke nods.

There’s a beat of silence.

“You got a name I can take, _hm_?”. V adds.

Brooke snorts.

“Sure I do-”. She responds

“-But that’s not important, is it?”. The question is rhetorical.

She hangs up with V still garbling nonsense that Brooke doesn’t care for. It’s exhausting, their intentions are evident. 

Nothings ever been clearer, and Brooke exhales through her nose. She puts her phone on the bedside table, then, buries herself further into her matters and falls asleep before nine o’clock on a Wednesday. She tells herself that she needs it, doesn’t fight the fatigue that pulls her under, and closes her eyes to the remnants of V’s voice, sweetening her tongue and poisoning her thoughts. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her fingers wrap around Vanessa’s wrist. They pull, until their bodies touch. Pant suit to cotton dress that should have gone already. Brooke tugs at the hem of it; Vanessa takes this hint quickly, it’s her job, and is stood in just her lingerie, her suspenders and heels that make Brooke want to sink her teeth into her calves.
> 
> Vanessa gives her another once over.
> 
> “You’re important”.
> 
> Brooke knows that she is, but it’s nice to hear it from somebody other than herself and her colleagues, an outside source. She smiles and nods.
> 
> “So you know why you need to keep this quiet, yes?”. Brooke checks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Uploading consistently? We’ve entered a parallel universe. 
> 
> Things happen in this ch!! And we!! Really get going! I have a lot more planned for these two and you’ll see as things pan out, but I’m really excited! 
> 
> Thank you guys again for the lovely feedback! 
> 
> Let me know what you think <3

Brooke chooses a hotel across the city.

Expensive, predictably. 

The staff are overly friendly and Brooke hates them for it. She doesn’t reserve the penthouse, though could have, if she had wanted to, and instead opts for a regular luxury suite. The staff still treat her like she breathes solid gold and Brooke doesn’t miss it.

She doesn’t bring them up on it, either. 

The room is - it’s _fine_ , it’s nice, beige walls, she observes - and she checks in twenty minutes before nine o’clock. She’s early, as she often is, and sends the room number over to V, receives nothing but a curt _ok_ for her efforts. 

Brooke guesses that this is how it works. 

She waits, and waits a little longer, hides away her small suitcase in the corner of the room. Her suit pants feel too constricting and her high heels an inch too high; fellow guests in the lobby had still stared at her as she’d breezed through, flashing a smile that allowed her past the front desk without so much as a swipe of her bank card. 

Brooke still finds it laughable.

She stands stoic in the centre of the room a minute before the clock ticks over into the next hour. There’s a full length mirror, and she regards herself in it. She wonders briefly what Nina would tell her if she knew; Brooke thinks Nina was one step away from calling V for her if it came down to it.

Both are glad that it didn’t, though neither tell each other. 

Her black blazer nips her in at the waist. She looks every bit the part, knows that she can step up to it, too, and pushes out her chest. She’s left the top button of her shirt undone, purposely, hopes that V will appreciate it.

She knows that she does when a blink later V is tapping at the door before pushing her way in, eyeing Brooke curiously. V’s gaze trails from her head downwards. From jewellery to clothing, posture to red bottoms, V knows what she’s dealing with and she’d be lying if she said it was surprising. 

It’s nothing that she hasn’t seen before, Brooke gathers as much from her sway across the room. They stand a metre or so away from each other, V looking up at Brooke from beneath her heavy lashes. 

Brooke notes that she has a head on her, at least, even with the heels that heighten the both of them. She towers over her - it’s nice, the familiarity of control is what’s keeping her grounded - and becomes the one to close the gap between them. 

They’re chest to chest, practically. V is composed and Brooke wants to reverse that. She will - it’s only a matter of time, she swears - and nods her head, regarding her. V smiles, cocksure and certain into the space between them; Brooke takes in her sculpted features, dark wavy hair, all sleek, and her trench coat that -

\- it’s a ridiculous guise. 

V doesn’t look at all bothered by it. She’s left the top of said coat gaping intentionally. Brooke can see the lace of her bra poking out of the neckline though doesn’t tell her, yet. There’s no reason to. 

“Vanessa”. The woman licks across her lips.

_Vanessa_. 

Brooke didn’t think she’d be getting an actual name.

Something tells her she’s not lying, either. 

“Good to know”. Brooke states simply. 

It is. She wanted a name. It helps, she tells herself. And it does, gives her a label that she can adhere to the woman, something to call out amongst expletives that she hopes to draw from her lungs. 

Vanessa doesn’t seem satisfied, though. She wants a name - Brooke’s not going to give her one - and frowns microscopically. It flashes across her face and disappears before Brooke can comment on it, but it was there, and it happened, and Brooke can focus on nothing apart from the wad of cash tucked into the waistband of her pants. 

“Half now?”. Brooke checks.

“ _Mhm_ ”. Vanessa clarifies.

“Ok-“. Brooke pulls the money from her side.

“-Name your price”. The corner of her mouth twitches.

Vanessa does, and Brooke doubles it, true to her word. She slips it into the palm of Vanessa’s hand. From there, Vanessa folds it nearly into the pocket of her coat. It’s safe there. She nods in approval towards Brooke, and shrugs off said coat, places it onto the dresser.

Beneath, she’s wearing a camisole dress that does nothing for her. Her lingerie beneath it is red, hazed by the see through cotton cloaked over it. It’s dark, Brooke likes it, likes the way it compliments the olive of Vanessa’s skin, and she glides a tip of a finger down the length of Vanessa’s bare arm once given the go ahead. 

“You payed in cash”. Vanessa shivers.

“I did-“. Brooke hums.

“-Your point?”. She queries. 

Mulling it over, Vanessa arches an eyebrow. She’s not discreet about it, this time, chooses to lean into Brooke’s menial caresses. They keep travelling further down her arm, and she chooses to believe that Brooke knows what she’s doing, here. 

Maybe she does - she’ll find out. 

“No bank transfer?”. Vanessa checks. 

“Too traceable”. Brooke shakes her head. 

Her fingers wrap around Vanessa’s wrist. They pull, until their bodies touch. Pant suit to cotton dress that should have gone already. Brooke tugs at the hem of it; Vanessa takes this hint quickly, it’s her job, and is stood in just her lingerie, her suspenders and heels that make Brooke want to sink her teeth into her calves. 

Vanessa gives her another once over.

“You’re important”. 

Brooke knows that she is, but it’s nice to hear it from somebody other than herself and her colleagues, an outside source. She smiles and nods. 

“So you know why you need to keep this quiet, _yes_?”. Brooke checks. 

Smirking, Vanessa slinks her arms around Brooke’s neck. She pushes herself up - her heels still don’t lift her half of the way to Brooke’s line of sight - and hums, noncommittal. She can already tell from the power in Brooke’s stance as well as her words how things are going to work, this time around, but it doesn’t stop her from trying.

She succeeds, in a way. Brooke’s eyes close and Vanessa tugs at the hairs at the naps of her neck. The pull is delicious against her scalp; Brooke only catches herself when Vanessa’s talking again.

“So, what? You’re important but not important enough to make a ‘lil payment slip under the radar?”. Vanessa pulls again. 

Pressing their foreheads together, Brooke grunts. Vanessa knows what she’s talking about - Nina had been right when she had said Vanessa was good - and Brooke purses her lips approvingly. 

“I’m not stupid”. Brooke tells her, because she isn’t. 

Vanessa seems to agree. 

“No-“. She states.

“-You’re smart”. Vanessa nods. 

Brooke’s hands are on her hips, then, yanking her closer closer closer. Vanessa doesn’t protest. She breathes hotly into Brooke’s face, mouth parting against her cheek, and Brooke slips a leg between both of Vanessa’s thighs that spread in her stilettos. It’s promising. Vanessa groans outwardly. 

“And?”. Brooke coaxes.

“And I’ll keep my mouth shut”. Vanessa swears.

Brooke trusts that she will. 

Vanessa had looked at the money with a glint in her eye and a soft simper on her face when Brooke had handed it over. A silent promise. It had been what solidified Brooke’s decision in not walking out of the room, telling her to forget, forget all of it. A nameless face that Brooke still is, really. 

She’s good. 

“I know”. Brooke husks.

She’s not worried, anymore, not when Vanessa leans into her further, drags her lips across her neck. Brooke has half the mind to tell her to stop. She’s wearing a shirt that’s silk and Vanessa’s lipstick is red; she shouldn’t want her to stain it, ruin it, but she does.

“You remember the rules I sent you, right, baby?”. Vanessa drags her lips lower.

Red stains white.

“I remember”. 

_I say stop, you listen._

_You say stop, I listen._

_No kissing on the lips._

_No marks._

_Leave by checkout the next day._

Brooke remembers all of it. It’s ingrained in her bones, fixes itself there with every pucker of Vanessa’s lips against her collarbones. She pulls away to face Brooke once more when she reaches the top button of her shirt, half tucked into her pants, her blazer, and presses a finger to her chest. 

“Then that’s all I need to know”.Vanessa punctuates. 

She could be lying, and it’s a thought that Brooke’s not naive to. But it’s not a thought that’s particularly concerning in that moment, either, Vanessa unbuttoning her blazer and her shirt and her pants; she’s as undressed as Vanessa is and it’s nice, she likes it.

Brooke kicks off her heels. She doesn’t need them, stands taller than Vanessa even bare footed. She walks them backwards, tells Vanessa to keep her bra on. It looks good on her, Brooke wants to indulge in the visual for a while longer. She gets to do so when Vanessa listens, folds herself onto the bed just for Brooke. 

She’s spread out ethereally. Brooke wants to ruin her - she’ll get her chance, her time - and crowds into Vanessa’s space, drapes her body across the smaller frame that’s willing, expectant beneath her. Vanessa toes her heels off, too, Brooke helping with the tiny gold buckles. 

it’s a sight. Brooke thinks Nina might have had a point, or several, after all, and drops her head to drag her respective lipstick up the length of Vanessa’s neck. It’s tense, muscles and tendons clenching. Brooke nips and sucks where she’s able to, ever cautious of _no marks, no kissing_ _on the lips._

Brooke didn’t expect it to be hard, though it proves to be.

She wants Vanessa’s lips on hers, tongue in her mouth and teeth clacking unashamedly. Her lipstick is smudged beyond her lip line, down to her chin as well as the fabric of Brooke’s forgotten shirt. She moans lowly and those lips part sinfully again; it’s all Brooke focuses on before she scalds herself, rids Vanessa of her bra, her panties.

Tired of the visual, impatient for _anything_ , Brooke tugs on Vanessa’s hair. 

“Can you be good?”. She isn’t quiet. 

It’s loud in the room around them - it’s saying something considering the size of it, the height of the ceilings - but Vanessa doesn’t flinch. She’s looking up at Brooke like she wants it, and Brooke dares to think that maybe she does. 

Maybe it’s not an act.

“Yes, Mami”. Vanessa whines.

Brooke has the audacity to grin.

“Oh yeah? You into that?”. Brooke teases.

Vanessa merely nods her head.

She doesn’t have to say it and Brooke doesn’t have to ask. It goes unspoken - Brooke’s feeling out Vanessa’s buttons, has already mastered one, maybe two - and she’s flipping her over, pressing her hips into the mattress.

Vanessa is warm, hot hot hot underneath her. Brooke rolls her hips experimentally against the swell of Vanessa’s ass, hums appreciatively. Vanessa grinds back, Brooke lets her, and becomes an orchestra of moans as Brooke’s hand slips between her legs.

She’s wet. It coats Brooke’s fingers, the thumb that she works against her clit, and dampens the sheets that bunch up with each twitch. Brooke presses the palm of one hand into the small of Vanessa’s back, keeps her grounded as she fucks into her with two fingers.

Flicking her hair behind her shoulder, lowering her mouth to Vanessa’s ear, Brooke growls. 

“That’s it-“. Brooke encourages. 

“-Does Mami make you feel good?”. 

She gets a grunt in response that’s followed by a guttural moan.

“Thought so”. Brooke smirks. 

She presses on further, curls her fingers inside of Vanessa and searches for all of the friction that she’s able to get; it’s not much, Vanessa is soaking her down to her wrist. 

Her walls clench around Brooke’s fingers. Brooke briefly wonders why she had herself convinced that she didn’t miss having a woman come undone beneath her, snug, radiating warmth, whining, and refocuses herself. 

Vanessa is - she’s something - but Brooke has a goal, and it’s to make her come, make her scream.

Brooke gets her wish. 

“Your name-“. Vanessa pleads. 

“-Tell me, Mami, ‘wanna moan all pretty for you, ‘wanna come”. She begs.

Laughter bubbles from Brooke’s chest. She’s not going to tell her. She knows it, and Brooke reinforces the fact with a shake to her head , but she tries. She tries, and fails, miserably, but she does come, even without Brooke’s name on her tongue like she had wanted. 

Brooke pulls out slowly, and Vanessa gasps. She threads her fingers through Vanessa’s hair once more, tells Vanessa that she’s a good girl for the first and last time that night. It makes her shiver - there’s a sweetness, a tenderness that Brooke hadn’t been expecting - and Vanessa presses a single kiss to Brooke’s shoulder that’s closest to her. 

“No mention. Remember that”. Brooke reinforces.

Vanessa rolls her eyes. 

“Look, I’ve seen your kind before and I’ll see it again. You ain’t anything special, baby”.

They don’t speak further.

Brooke leaves ten minutes later. 

Vanessa has her cash - double, because Brooke had decided that yes, she was worth it - and if both feel a tug in their chests as the door slams shut, neither mention it. 

Brooke catches her ride home in a daze, but her driver doesn’t question it. He knows better, and Brooke allows herself a moment; the scent of Vanessa strong on her fingers and red lipstick staining her collar.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mumbling a vague Jesus Christ, Nina tops up her wine glass. She drinks half of it before she even attempts a response that comes out shaky, anyway, and turns to look at Brooke at Brooke with a softness that resembles empathy. She places a hand over Brooke’s once more, squeezes reassuringly.
> 
> “It says you’re human-“. Nina nods.
> 
> “-Oh, and that you should definitely call her again”.
> 
> Brooke all but whines out loud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im having a very fun time writing this!! Here’s ch4! Once again, thank you guys for the amazing comments! We’re officially half way through! <3

Nina is wonderful, she is.

She’s the best business partner and the closest friend that Brooke’s ever had, will probably ever have. She’s talented, wise, but when Brooke strides into her office the next day, the expression that glows on Nina’s face is enough to make her want to turn back around. 

Nina smirks, all knowing, and nods politely. 

Brooke walks with a renewed vigour in her step, her strides longer and posture straighter than it’s ever been. Nina didn’t think it possible; Brooke’s always been confident, since the day that they met as interns, but this, this is different, and Nina’s able to spot it from a mile off.

“Oh-“. Nina beams. 

“-Oh, you _did_ , didn’t you?”. She asks.

“Nina, I swear to god-“.

“You called her”. Nina prods.

Brooke sits herself down. She claims the chair that’s tucked under the opposite side of Nina’s desk, collapses with a huff. She sits with her legs spread, elbows on her knees and chin in her palms. Nina looks at her expectantly, nudges a cup of coffee towards Brooke.

She sips at it gratefully - Nina knows her order off by heart, black with hazelnut, one sugar - and drains the paper cup before Nina’s crossed her legs awaitngly. Nina empties her respective cup, shrugs when a handful of minutes tick by and Brooke doesn’t open her mouth.

Not once. 

“I don’t know why you’re putting up a front about it-“. Nina shrugs. 

“-I _know_ you know it’s not something to be ashamed of”. She scrutinises.

Brooke stares her dead in the eyes. 

Her phone vibrates on the desk in front of her, then, a message that tells her she has a meeting in half an hour. She knows already, of course she does - Brooke is prepared like that - but the reminder makes her grunt none the less. 

“You’re impossible, you know that?’. Brooke sighs, though lets her mouth twitch in something that resembles a smile.

“Oh, completely aware”. Nina nods sweetly. 

Brooke types out a reply, short nails tapping at the screen of her phone. She hits send, ignores the further reply that comes through before she’s able to set it down again, and reclines against the back of the chair. She mirrors Nina, crosses her legs. 

“I called her”. Brooke confirms.

Nina, peering across the bridge of her glasses, arches a brow. Brooke tilts her head inconspicuously, shrugs her shoulders once more. Nina keeps her eyes trained on Brooke’s, wants to scream at her to spit it out, _tell me_ ; she already knows but she wants Brooke’s words regardless.

“And?”. Nina prompts. 

“And I fucked her. And I liked it. End of”. Brooke proclaims. 

Silence hangs between them, and then they’re chuckling. Brooke snorts through her nose, and Nina giggles, pushes her glasses back up the bridge of her nose when they slip. Brooke rolls her eyes, it’s becoming a habit - at herself, at Nina, at Vanessa - and pops a mint into her mouth from the shallow tray that Nina keeps on her desk. 

It’s refreshing, like her morning is shaping up to be despite the looming interview, and Nina looks ecstatic. She’s pleased with herself, that much is evident. Brooke doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction but knows that she’s already handed it over when Nina crinkles her eyes approvingly. She stands, then, twirls a tendril of Brooke’s hair between two fingers before she makes a beeline for the door. 

“Well-“. Nina considers. 

“-Do you think you’ll see her again? I haven’t ever seen you this relaxed, and I’ve had the misfortune of having sex with you”. She jokes, hand on the door handle.

Nina thinks that she’s funny. 

Brooke guesses that she is - she knows not to push their history but is able to mock it, make light of it - and Brooke finds herself laughing along, trotting out of the office and into the main lobby behind her. Nina turns to face her, and Brooke contemplates her answer; _maybe, I don’t know, maybe, we’ll see._

“No, absolutely not”. She shakes her head.

“No?”. Nina looks on in disbelief. 

“Risks. Too many. I might have already fucked up, who knows if she’ll breathe a word of it to anybody?”. Brooke mutters lowly. 

They’re the only two people in the room, with the exception of a secretary bustling into the elevator across from them, coffee cups balanced precariously in his arms. There’s no reason to whisper, no reason to even attempt to be discreet, but Brooke is cautious and Nina knows it, chooses not to call her out on the matter.

“Sure-“. Nina shrugs.

“-But for the record, the only thing you’re putting at risk is both of our sanities”.

Brooke is beginning to think she might be right. 

*****

Nina, Brooke decides, at some point during the following month, is right. 

Brooke feels like she’s losing her mind, and Nina’s the first to notice. She always is - it’s nothing new, Brooke doesn’t know what she’d been expecting - and sits Brooke down at the end of a work-week in the bar that they frequent on the Upper East Side. 

It’s a Saturday, crowded, and Brooke drinks martini after martini, throws bill after bill in tip money at the young bar tender who ogles her, adds an extra shot of gin per her request. Nina’s drinking wine, again - she makes another joke about being grape dependant, Brooke still doesn’t find it funny - and is half way through the bottle before she dares bring it up.

When she does, Brooke fights it more than she should. 

“You’re slumping again”. Nina tells her, lips on the rim of her glass. 

Brooke grunts into her own glass, shakes her head and sets it down with a clack. Nina eyes her wearily but presses on, nods her head in retaliation. Brooke doesn’t tell her that she’s right and that she could save her breath.

“I’m not”. Brooke swears.

“ _Yes_ -“. Nina hiccups.

“-Yes you are”. 

Brooke is. She knows it, and Nina’s telling her that she knows it, too. Brooke has a hunch that the majority of people on her team know as much, is certain that even the intern receptionist could guess if she tried hard enough. She’s tense, throwing energy that she doesn’t have left within herself into her work. It’s not healthy; Nina’s looking at her like she pities her. 

“Does it matter if I am?”. Brooke tries. 

Nina narrows her eyes. Of course it matters - they’re mid way through one of the biggest investment cases that Brooke’s dealt with, ever - and neither want to jeopardise it. Nina nods her head slowly, flags down the bartender and orders Brooke another drink.

She accepts wordlessly.

“All I’m saying is-“. Nina relents. 

“-Would it really hurt? You like sex, you _love_ sex, why not just - have it? Get it out of your system”. She huffs.

Brooke’s not ready to be serious.

“Are you offering, again?”. Brooke smirks.

Nina laughs, rolls her eyes and shakes her head. Her hand comes down to tap at Brooke’s wrist, delicate gold bangles sliding further up her toned arm. Nina strokes at them, and then grumbles disapprovingly, shakes her head once more in dismay.

“I’m starting to think you’re in love with me more than yourself”. Nina banters.

Brooke plays into it. She sips at her drink whilst maintaining eye contact, bites into the olive garnish with a precise snap of her jaw. 

It’s stupid, dumb - Nina’s a second away from cracking, Brooke’s not far behind - and they’re laughing, clutching at the wood of the bar top. It’s true, partly; Brooke’s not in love with Nina and never has been, but Brooke’s never in all of the years that Nina’s known her been secretive about her confidence.

She radiates it. 

“You know I’m messing-”. Brooke softens.

“-I’m just not about to admit that the best sex I’ve had in years was with a call girl”. She snickers. 

Nina catches her mistake.

“I hate to break it to you, but you just admitted it”. Nina points out, and Brooke gives up pretending. 

“God-“. Brooke groans. 

“-She didn’t even touch me, not really, and I don’t even care. What does it say about me that I have her number saved to my phone, Nina?”. She exasperates.

Mumbling a vague _Jesus Christ_ , Nina tops up her wine glass. She drinks half of it before she even attempts a response that comes out shaky, anyway, and turns to look at Brooke at Brooke with a softness that resembles empathy. She places a hand over Brooke’s once more, squeezes reassuringly. 

“It says you’re human-“. Nina nods.

“-Oh, and that you should definitely call her again”.

Brooke all but whines out loud.

***** 

Sat at her office desk the next day, Brooke stares directly down at her phone.

She has it placed centre on the wooden surface, her messages open on the screen. Her eyes glare at it, piercing and mournful as if the message that’s hanging off of the tips of her fingers is going to type itself. It isn’t; Brooke admits it to herself somewhere between her third and fourth coffee of the afternoon. 

Conceding defeat isn’t something that Brooke does, never has been. It’s why when she picks up said phone, scrolls to the contact simply titled _V_ \- V for Vanessa - it takes her a minute to focus. 

Nina’s words are a constant in her mind, as are her own inhibitions. They play second fiddle only to her recollections of Vanessa’s body, her voice, her words. She’d moaned like that just for Brooke, because of her, had called her Mami and allowed her to yank on her hair in any which way, coaxing her to an orgasm that had been tight around her fingers.

Brooke crosses her legs, squeezes her thighs together at the thought.

She wants it again, wants to see Vanessa again, and begins typing with her teeth nestled into her bottom lip.

**_Brooke_ : Hello, I don’t know if you remember my number, but I saw you a month or so ago and want to see you again. As soon as possible, preferably **

She reads over it and reads over it - it sounds too formal, maybe, not direct enough, possibly - but she’s pressed send on impulse before she’s able to second guess herself. She makes a decision and sticks to it, exhales all of the breath within her lungs when her phone tells her that the message has been delivered. 

Busying herself, Brooke browses the inbox of her emails. There’s nothing that interests her, but she scrolls anyway, skims over files and folders that have been sent to her; they detail cases and investments but Brooke doesn’t care for them.

She clicks out of them as soon as her phone chimes in reply.

**_Vanessa_ : Hey you! I remember, I saved your number. Blondie in the power suit who wouldn’t tell me her name and payed my rent for next couple of months, right? **

**_Brooke_ : That’s me, probably, unless you get some similar clients. You had my number saved? **

**_Vanessa_ : Knew you’d wanna come back, baby. Call it a feeling **

Call it a feeling, Brooke laughs aloud. Call it a feeling, she had said, and Brooke wants to agree. She does agree, though doesn’t have a response prepared, tenses in her chair until Vanessa’s messaging, again, taking the pressure off of Brooke like it’s her job.

It _is_ her job.

**_Vanessa_ : So you wanna see me again? **

**_Brooke_ : Yes**

**_Vanessa_ : Same as last time?**

**_Brooke_ : I think so. Same place would work. Same time, if you can. I might stay longer**

She might. It’s been a possibility that she’s toyed with throughout the last weeks, the days that have built up to Nina convincing her to call again, her own needs telling her to text, to message, anything. She wants to tell Vanessa as much, tell her that she just wants to make her come, unashamedly, but her pride gets in the way and Brooke wants the ground to swallow her whole. 

**_Brooke_ : It’s been a rough month **

**_Vanessa_ : I’m sure we can do something about that. We’ll sort you right out, don’t you worry. I can do tomorrow, if you’re up for it? I can clear my schedule for a girl like you **

She’s at a loss for words. It doesn’t happen, it just doesn’t - Brooke’s frustrated, her thumbs feel like they’ve turned to stone -and she’s typing out a shorter response than she’s opted for thus far. It seems only fitting; there’s a relief that’s lifted from her chest, and no need for more than the details that she deems essential. 

It’s how she likes it. 

**_Brooke_ : Ok**

**_Brooke_ : I’ll text you the room number**

Vanessa doesn’t send anything back, but reads the message and Brooke knows, it’s a good sign. 

She floats through the remainder of her day with ease. 

*****

It’s like deja vu. 

Brooke arrives at the hotel first, stands stationary in the centre of the room until Vanessa shows her face. She’s earlier, this time, five minutes or so, and when Brooke pays her the first half of their agreed amount she thanks her with a kiss to her cheek and a tug on her arm. 

“ _Knew I’d see you again”._

_“Aren’t you just a genius”._

She lets Brooke fuck her, hard into the mattress like she can tell that Brooke needs. Brooke is grateful that she keeps the conversation to a minimum, unsure if she could stomach anything more. It’s a rhythm that she falls back into with ease, Brooke’s good at this; She makes Vanessa come once on her hands and knees, again on her back with her hands in Brooke’s hair, and a third time up against the wall.

“ _You’re ‘gonna make me come again”._

_“Good, come for Mami”._

Brooke logs that it’s a sight worth savouring. 

She wants Vanessa under her, on her, and gets her wish when Vanessa’s coming down from her fifth, sixth orgasm. She spreads herself out atop of Brooke, slots their legs together. Brooke’s wet against her leg through her underwear, though neither mention it. Brooke called her to get Vanessa off, not the other way around, and both know it. 

“ _Do you want me to-“._

_“No, just let me touch you”._

Brooke likes the power, and wants to hold onto it.

Will hold onto it. 

Vanessa looks up at her from where her chin rests on Brooke’s chest. She begins grinding against the blondes hip bone, her thigh, strong and muscular, and groans outwardly. Brooke grins, lifts a limp hand to pinch at Vanessa’s nipple that’s closest to her. 

She whines into Brooke’s neck - and Brooke wants to kiss her.

It’s not a revelation. She’d thought about it the first time and she’s certain that she’s going to keep thinking about it. She has half a mind to ask, draw Vanessa’s lips to her own, but she knows the rules, and isn’t about to abuse them, not with Vanessa pliant and wanting against her body.

Next time, she convinces, next time.

“ _Kiss my neck”._

_“Yeah? You need to come again?”._

_“Please”._

Brooke curses at herself for thinking there will be a next time. 

Vanessa’s staring her dead in the eyes, still, mouth parted. Her hair is matted, dampened with sweat and stuck to her shoulders. Brooke peals it away for her, glides her fingertips across her protruding collarbones. Vanessa grins, and then moans, clenches both of her thighs down around one of Brooke’s. 

“You still need to tell me your name”. Vanessa whines. 

Brooke admires her perseverance.

“I think Mami’s fine for now, don’t you?”. Brooke drawls.

For _now_.

She cranes her neck, then, swirls her tongue around Vanessa’s nipple and draws it into her mouth. She sucks on it with vigour - the added pleasure has Vanessa’s hips bucking, she’s coming - and doesn’t relent until Vanessa collapses. She lands with her limbs spread out, tucked into Brooke’s side; it doesn’t cross Brookes mind to tell her to leave until she catches sight of the time on her watch. 

“Vanessa”. Brooke nudges her. 

“ _Hm_?”. She’s tired, fucked out, is making Brooke feel things. 

“I need to go”. Brooke mutters, detaches herself from Vanessa’s grip. 

Nodding her head, Vanessa stretches. She kicks away the ruffled bed sheets, makes a half hearted attempt at detangling her hair. It’s futile, Brooke chuckles lowly at the sight, and she watches with dazed eyes as Brooke pulls on her clothes. There are lipstick stains on her collar again and Vanessa is proud to have put them there.

Brooke is happy that she put them there. 

“You busy, hm?”. Vanessa arches an eyebrow, receives an affirmative nod.

“I’d stay longer, but I have to be up early tomorrow“. Brooke crosses the room to perch on the edge of the bed once more. 

She lifts her hand, gently, brushes a thumb tenderly across the high point of Vanessa’s cheek. It’s soft, more than Vanessa had expected, and she’s leaning into the touch, Brooke’s mouth upturning in a satisfied simper at the sight unfolding before her.

“Stay here, overnight. Get some rest-“. Brooke tells her. 

“-You deserve it”. She means it. 

Vanessa sighs, relieved at the words that greet her ears. 

“You ‘gonna come see me sooner next time? A months a long time, baby”. Vanessa teases.

Brooke freezes with her hand in her pocket, scattering dollar bills akin to rose petals on the mattress next to Vanessa’s body. She leaves them there - Vanessa nods in recognition, it goes unspoken - and stands abruptly. 

“Next week?”. Brooke’s back to being blunt, Vanessa notices the switch. 

“I look forward to it”. Vanessa confirms.

The door slams between them for the second time, but the statement reigns true. Vanessa looks forward to it, and _Brooke_ -

Brooke does too. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re still seeing her, right? How’s that going?”. Nina asks.
> 
> Brooke is honest.
> 
> “It helps-“. She nods.
> 
> “-I’m seeing her tonight”. Brooke confirms.
> 
> Nina had her suspicions. Brooke carries herself differently, in the lead up. She walks with her shoulders hunched and her feet close together, wears heels that make less of a sharp clunk than her usual stilettos. Brooke thinks she’s discreet, but Nina catches her, like she always has, and hums along to Brooke’s words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5!! Is this the fluff you’ve been waiting for? Maybe! You’ll find out! Again, thank you for all of the support on this one, I hope you like it!<3

If Nina notices the change in Brooke’s demeanour the following morning, she says nothing.

She says nothing, nothing at all, for the next three times that Brooke meets with Vanessa. And then there’s a fourth time, where all she offers is a smirk. Brooke understands then that she doesn’t need to say anything because Nina already knows, and knows that Brooke knows, too. 

Nina continues not to say a word until Brooke’s over a month into her meetings with Vanessa. She calls Brooke into her office at the end of the work week, six o’clock on a Friday having shown up, left, doused them with a sense of calm. 

_Finally_. 

Brooke collapses in the chair opposite Nina’s desk, sits with her legs spread, already clutching the glass of wine between her fingers that Nina had pre-poured, set out just for Brooke. They clink their glasses against one and others, Nina mutters a _cheers_ , and Brooke doesn’t respond. 

“I hate wine”. Brooke grunts.

She drains her glass.

“I know“. Nina nods.

Brooke smiles softly, content. It’s so typically Nina that she doesn’t have a reply ready, and she settles for narrowing her eyes instead. Nina eyes her suspiciously, she still doesn’t say a word about what Brooke knows is clawing at her skin; it’s becoming a habit, a lot more goes unsaid between them than it has before. 

“So why is it all I get to drink whenever I’m in your office?”. Brooke bites.

Nina tops up Brooke’s glass. Brooke cradles it to her chest, and sips at it with a scrunched up nose. There’s a lot that she’s picky about in life but decides that alcohol shouldn’t be one of them - it’ll get her drunk, it’s fine - and gulps it down. She can feel her throat burning and her chest warming from the inside.

“The same reason I only ever get given whisky when I’m in yours”. Nina retaliates. 

Brooke regards her with a raised eyebrow.

“Touché”.  

They make their way through half of the bottle before the hours up. Nina feels dizzy, Brooke a little hazy. Both lost track of the email that they were meant to be discussing somewhere between their third glasses and Nina minimising the window on her computer. 

Brooke doesn’t care for it. Work is - it’s too much. Brooke’s grown to loathe it, has resigned herself to simply a name. Nina works with her but works for her, really, and informs Brooke of only what she needs to whilst Brooke sits mute throughout meetings, spends her time in her office scrolling menially through her phone. 

Social media irritates her, work drains her and life bores her. Brooke tells Nina as much and watches the realisation dawn on her face. It’s not like Nina hadn’t known, Brooke convinces herself. She must have - Nina’s not oblivious, she knows how Brooke works - but she’s looking over at her with pity, remorse, guilt; she’s all out of ideas. 

The only time that Brooke looks like Brooke anymore is the morning following her brief nights at _The Dominick_ , and Nina is more than aware that Vanessa can’t solve Brooke’s problems but she suggests it anyway. Brooke looks at her like she’s not insane, for once. 

“You’re still seeing her, right? How’s that going?”. Nina asks. 

Brooke is honest.

“It helps-“. She nods.

“-I’m seeing her tonight”. Brooke confirms.

Nina had her suspicions. Brooke carries herself differently, in the lead up. She walks with her shoulders hunched and her feet close together, wears heels that make less of a sharp clunk than her usual stilettos. Brooke thinks she’s discreet, but Nina catches her, like she always has, and hums along to Brooke’s words.

“Well-“. Nina shrugs.

“-Never tell me my ideas aren’t useful”. She beams. 

It makes Brooke laugh, really laugh. She cackles, catches the wine glass that threatens to slip from her hands akin to her patience, clatter to the floor. Nina leans across the desk that’s a barrier between them, clutches Brooke’s arm and giggles along. Brooke doesn’t say much more before she leaves, has her driver take her to the usual hotel, but she thinks it, and it’s enough for Nina, for now.

She’s thankful.

*****

Vanessa doesn’t contest when Brooke asks for an earlier time.

They both turn up at seven, walk through the lobby of the hotel and check in side by side. Vanessa follows hot on Brooke’s heels into the elevator, brushes past her in a cloud of peonies and perfume. Brooke instinctively leans closer; Vanessa’s on the same page, doesn’t bat an eyelid when she’s nudging Brooke in acknowledgment. 

Brooke smiles down at her, exits the elevator and strides onto their floor ahead of Vanessa. She swipes them into the room with her key card, sets down her bag on the armchair that greets her. Vanessa doesn’t carry a bag, hasn’t done so since Brooke’s known her, and instead opts for shedding her coat. 

It’s faux fur, and it suits her, Brooke decides. 

She’s wearing a short sleeved T-shirt dress beneath said coat, this time. It’s short and see through, and Brooke’s still able to make out the outline of her lingerie beneath, but she looks comfortable. The soft smile that reaches her eyes tells Brooke that she is. 

Vanessa has her arms around Brooke’s waist, pulling and pulling and pulling. Brooke doesn’t fight it, smiles softly down at her. She’s looking up at Brooke with a smile that’s soft and eyes that are softer, pressing herself up on her toes to drop a kiss to Brooke’s cheek. 

Brooke receives it with a tender smile of her own, tightens her arms around Vanessa’s frame. She winds her hands into the fabric of Vanessa’s shirt, curls her fingers into her hips. Vanessa lets Brooke do it, encourages her with a nod of her head. Brooke hums, and does it, Vanessa’s breath hot on her neck.

It’s warm, and makes her shiver. 

“How’ve you been?”. Vanessa mumbles.

She looks up at Brooke from beneath her lashes, fluttering against her under eyes, and Brooke’s jaw goes slack. She doesn’t have the words, doesn’t have the thoughts, and settles for shrugging. Vanessa can feel the tension that’s amounted in her shoulders and it’s too much, far too much; Vanessa’s walking Brooke backwards until her knees are buckling to sit in the high backed armchair. 

“Sit-“. Vanessa tells her.

“-We’re gonna talk”. She asserts. 

Brooke doesn’t argue, no matter how much she wants to. 

Vanessa straddles her like it’s second nature to her - Brooke guesses that maybe it is between them, at this point - and settles her thighs atop of Brooke’s. Brooke runs her own hands from Vanessa’s knees to her waist, settles them there. Vanessa frowns, eyebrows furrowed, and Brooke outstretches an arm to smooth out the creases. 

“Vanessa-“. Brooke clears her throat. 

“-I don’t do _talking_ ”. 

Vanessa blinks, slowly.

“Tough”. She responds.

“But I have your money in my-“. 

“I said _tough_ -“. Vanessa hushes.

“-Pay me later, I don’t give a fuck. Why you looking like you have the weight of the world _and_ Jupiter sittin’ on your shoulder pads?”. She chuckles.

They laugh, both of them, but the concern doesn’t leave Vanessa’s eyes. She brushes her fingers through Brooke’s hair that isn’t meticulously styled, for once, tucks it behind her ears. Brooke flinches at the feeling of Vanessa’s short nails scratching behind her ears, and Vanessa gauges her reaction, drags her fingers lower.

“Work-“. Brooke exhales.

“-I’m not getting into it”. She shakes her head.

Vanessa looks contemplative.

“You don’t have to-“. She starts, understanding. 

“-Stressful, _hm_?”. Vanessa cocks her head. 

Her hands come to rest themselves on Brooke shoulders, then, press down at them until Brooke relaxes as much as Vanessa thinks she’s capable of. She slumps her body, lolls her head, and Vanessa’s telling her to take off her blazer. She doesn’t dispute it, unhooks it with a relived sigh, drops it to the floor; Vanessa circles the top button of Brooke’s shirt with the tip of a finger. 

“This your outlet?”. Vanessa guesses. 

It wasn’t meant to be. It shouldn’t be. Brooke didn’t think it was until she’d found herself telling Nina that it helps. It does - it helps more than Brooke’s able to convey with a single nod of her head - and Vanessa doesn’t push it further. She purses her lips and smiles, Brooke’s hands working their way beneath her shirt. 

One nestled into the small of Vanessa’s back and the other palming her hip, Brooke sighs, sits up straighter. 

“It’s - yes”. Brooke nods.

“Ok-“. Vanessa accepts. 

“- _That’s_ \- ok”. She breathes.

Brooke thinks that it might be. 

“ _I ain’t complaining, you’re good”._

_“Stop talking”.  _

She has Vanessa backed against the wall, legs wrapped around her waist. Vanessa’s shirt is laying somewhere, as are her bra and panties, and Brooke relishes in the feeling of skin on skin, Vanessa’s nails skimming her shoulder blades. She’s already worked herself out of her suit, her underwear, and feels the heat pooling between her thighs with each kiss that Vanessa presses to her neck, her collarbones.

They’re printed with red. 

It’s a picture or lust and want, anger and frustration. It’s convolution of need, passion, and Brooke wants all of it. Vanessa blinks slowly, whines as her hardening nipples brush against Brooke’s; a glance at her twisted facial expression tells Brooke all that she needs to know. 

“Scratch harder”. Brooke grunts, hand snaking between their bodies. 

“Yeah? You like that, Mami?”. Vanessa’s breath hitches.

“Be quiet”. She growls.

It’s not what she means. She doesn’t want Vanessa to be quiet, ever, wants Vanessa’s moans and her whimpers, her whines and her cries to continue infinitely. Brooke counts herself lucky when Vanessa doesn’t pay an ounce of attention to her and continues to ramble aimlessly, pushing her hips down onto Brooke’s hand.

Brooke has to slouch - she’s tall, taller than Vanessa by a long shot - but she tucks her chin lower. She grazes her teeth against the pulse point of Vanessa’s neck, sucks lightly. _No marks_ still rings like an alarm bell in her head, as does _no kissing no kissing no kissing on the lips._

Vanessa makes it hard.

Her mouth parts, filthily angelic when Brooke curls two fingers inside of her. She whine aloud, tilts her head back so that it bumps against the wall behind her. Brooke keeps her propped up, a strong hand cupping the back of one thigh, the other nestled between her legs. She keeps hooking her fingers, heel of her hand rubbing up against Vanessa’s clit; Vanessa’s eyes are blown, but her nails dig and it hurts and Brooke loves it. 

She can feel Vanessa tightening around her, and Vanessa’s hands are migrating to her hair. She manoeuvres Brooke until they’re face to, presses the fingers of one hand into her cheek. Brooke offers her an encouraging smile that feels too soft, too vulnerable, and she bumps their noses together.

“I’m so close”. Vanessa tugs once at her hair, locks their eyes. 

Brooke cracks.

“I want to kiss you-“.

“-Please let me kiss you”. She breathes. 

Vanessa’s eyes widen briefly, but then she’s moaning, nodding, pressing her own lips to Brooke’s cheek first. It’s not what Brooke’s means and Vanessa knows it; she’s whispering her own wishes into the room, and Brooke can barely hear them above the sounds of her fingers pumping inside of her. 

“Just tell me your name-“. Vanessa swallows. 

Brooke does. 

She mumbles it against Vanessa’s lips, breathes it out languidly. She lets it caress the curl of Vanessa’s grin, and then they’re kissing and Vanessa’s coming around her fingers, and Brooke doesn’t ever want it back. 

Vanessa keeps her name, mumbles it back to her as she clenches hot and dripping. It becomes a prayer, recited as if it were holy - Vanessa has the nerve to look at her like it is - but they’re kissing and Brooke allows her eyes to slip closed. 

She withdraws her fingers, glides them back up Vanessa’s body that’s relaxed against hers. She pinches at her nipple with them, once, draws a squeak from her breathless lungs. Vanessa chuckles when she pulls away, Brooke’s fingers wet around her waist, and grins. 

“You told me”. Vanessa softens. 

Her legs drop to the floor. She stands, shakily, keeps herself braced against Brooke’s body, sturdy and grounded, for the most part. Brooke stutters nervously, though finds herself nodding her head; Vanessa’s pulling her by her hand over to the bed, draping herself akin to silk atop of her.

They’re still kissing.

Brooke feels numb with it, doesn’t think Vanessa’s fairing much better. She looks down at Brooke with an awe that had spread itself out though Brooke’s bones the first time Vanessa had pressed her lips to her skin. It’s an awe that still hasn’t left, and Brooke thinks that she’ll be ok if it never does when Vanessa’s there, kissing and kissing and kissing her.

“ _You’re too much”._

_“Is this ok? We can stop”._

_“Brooke, no, don’t ‘wanna stop”._

_“Why’re you letting me kiss you?”._

_“I want you to”._

Vanessa has an arm and a leg thrown across Brooke’s body, the duvet cover tucked beneath their chins. It’s cold outside but warm where they are, limbs entangled.Brooke strokes a thumb over the muscle of Vanessa’s shoulder, centres her focus on the warmth of Vanessa’s head against her chest. 

Brooke’s heard her phone chime twice in the past ten minutes, and if Vanessa’s heard it then she doesn’t think it’s important. 

It isn’t.

“ _Brooke”._

_“Hm?”._

_“Oh - no, I just wanted to say it”._

Brooke steals kisses like they’re second nature, and Vanessa gives them to her without asking, with no restraint. She lets Brooke make her come again, and again, until it’s dark outside and the bedside lamp is switched on. Their skin glows yellow and orange, gold. 

“So-“. Vanessa starts, smirk forming.

“-I know your _name_ , will you tell me what you do, now?”. She asks. 

It’s a curiosity that’s taken over her. Brooke is just, Brooke. She’s Brooke, who wears power suits and has bleached blonde hair. Brooke, whose name she didn’t know until a matter of hours ago and Brooke, who dribbles money from her pockets like it’s water. 

Vanessa knows not to question things. She doesn’t question her mom, and doesn’t question why Brooke treats her like she does, with humility and kindness, albeit at a distance. She doesn’t question the weather, either, but she questions this, and it’s a start.

Brooke does question things. She questions why and how and when, but she doesn’t trust the responses. She believes facts, not feelings, but the intensity that harbours itself in Vanessa’s eyes is enough to make her want to try. Brooke doesn’t trust, but thinks that Vanessa might be truthful, and it’s a start.

Probably.

“I do finance, investing, dealing with donors. All of the above”. Brooke summarises. 

Vanessa nods slowly.

“You rolling with the big bosses?”. 

“I’m one of them”. 

Vanessa doesn’t look surprised, and Brooke assumes it’s because she’s not. Far from it. Brooke’s able to remember some of Vanessa’s first words to her - I’ve seen your kind before and I’ll see it again, you ain’t anything special, baby - and they ring in her ears, bells that are piercing. 

“What’s your last name?”. Vanessa tries.

She doesn’t expect a response but Brooke gives her one.

“Hytes”.

“ _Oh_ ”.

“Yeah”. 

Vanessa laughs bitterly, stiffens against Brooke’s side. 

“It’s always you fancy types, more money than they know what to do with but can’t just hook up with somebody like any normal folk”. She bites.

Brooke doesn’t know what to do with the information. This is Vanessa’s job - Brooke knows just from talking to her that she’s seen the ins and outs of peoples pockets and personal lives - but it doesn’t quell the sting in her chest. She averts her gaze, stares at the beige of the walls. 

“Risks, you should know that”. Brooke settles. 

Vanessa does know that, and it makes it worse.

“Can I ask you something, too?”. Brooke adds, an afterthought. 

Vanessa gives a short hum.

“Why do you do _this_?”. 

The intrigue hangs heavy between them. Brooke thinks she struggles to breathe for the seconds that trudge by. Vanessa props herself up on her elbow, peers down into Brooke’s eyes with a frown. She flicks her hair over her shoulders to avoid it dangling into Brooke’s face, tucks Brooke’s own behind her ears and licks across her lips. 

“Because I want to?”. Vanessa smirks.

It’s not an answer that Brooke could have predicted. She scrunches her eyes closed as they both laugh, Vanessa settling back into Brooke’s side. She places a kiss to her neck, delicate and promising, and it’s all Brooke can do to not release the tears that are building in the corners of her eyes. 

“Are you happy?”. Brooke checks.

Vanessa smiles, nods.

She is.

“Are you?”.

Brooke fights away the _no_ that she wants to answer with. 

“I don’t know”.

*****

Brooke stays until morning.

It’s the first time that it happens, and she awakens to Vanessa placing a fresh mug of coffee down onto the bedside table beside her. It’s earthy, fills her nostrils, and Vanessa is a rock when she slips back under the still warm sheets besides her. 

Brooke feels her throat constricting.

“Mornin’-”. Vanessa mumbles, nestles herself back into Brooke’s side. 

“-What you doing awake? It’s only seven, you’ve got time to sleep”. She reassures. 

Brooke can’t breathe. She shakes her head, pulls Vanessa closer, mumbles no. She can never sleep past eight, on a good day, her body clock wired for long work days, and thanks Vanessa for the coffee with a kiss to her forehead. If she focuses hard enough, Vanessa becomes her oxygen.

“How long have you been up?”. Brooke frowns. 

Shrugging, Vanessa switches positions, slots herself on her stomach between Brooke’s legs. Brooke spreads them for her, allows Vanessa to rest her chin on her chest, hair tickling at her ribs. Vanessa grins and lifts a hand to tame Brooke’s eyebrows that have shifted overnight.

“Long enough to know you talk in your sleep”. Vanessa winks. 

“Shut up, I do not”. Brooke chuckles. 

Only she does, and Vanessa knows after sleeping next to her once. Brooke has to stop herself from choking on the panic that rises in her chest, pours out of her lips. Vanessa is still naked, as is Brooke, and it takes every fibre of her concentration to keep her hands on Vanessa’s back, not travel lower; Vanessa’s looking at her like she wouldn’t complain if they did.

“Liar”. 

Brooke doesn’t correct her. 

Vanessa kisses at her chest, then, trails delicate pecks down to her sternum. She kisses there, too, and then lower, lower still, and by the time that she reaches Brooke’s navel, Brooke has to halt her. She does so with a hand on her cheek, and Vanessa blinks up at her with wide eyes. 

“What-“. Brooke clears her throat.

“-What are you doing?”. Her voice comes out scratchy. 

“Will you let me?”. Vanessa blinks.

Her eyelashes brush against the pad of Brooke’s thumb that strokes unwittingly, and Vanessa leans into the touch. She continues kissing up and around Brooke’s hip bones, grazes her teeth across them. She watches the goosebumps bloom on Brooke’s thighs and gets her answer. 

“You want to-“.

“ _Please_ ”. Vanessa interrupts, fingers ghosting across Brooke’s inner thighs. 

Brooke watches her control slip, but doesn’t make an attempt to reign it back it. She tells Vanessa yes, _yes_ , and Vanessa tells her that she’ll go slow. She does, true to her word, and maybe Brooke cries when she comes, maybe she doesn’t, but Vanessa is there afterwards, allowing her the space she needs to laugh. 

It’s ridiculous. 

“You’re good at that”. Brooke pants.

“It’s my job, of course I am”. Vanessa hooks her leg across Brooke’s waist. 

It’s her _job_. Of course she is. It’s her _job_ ; Brooke’s reminded of the fact when she hands the money over an hour before check out, watches Vanessa accept it tentatively. 

Vanessa’s doing her job, and Brooke’s heart wrenches a little, lurches out of the door when Vanessa leaves. It’s her _job_ , she repeats to herself, and she has rules.

_I say stop, you listen._

_You say stop, I listen._

_No kissing on the lips._

_No marks._

_Leave by checkout the next day._

They’re rules that she breaks for Brooke -

\- And Brooke dares to hope it’s a good sign. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And if her chest clenches at the sight of Vanessa when she sheds her suit, so be it. If her gut twists when she pulls Vanessa to straddle her on her office chair, then that’s just how it has to be. Brooke doesn’t have enough hours in the day for the doubts that rise like smoke from her lungs when Vanessa’s kissing her, still.
> 
> Because if Brooke’s letting her defences fall, she decides, she’s glad it’s for her, for Vanessa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6!!
> 
> There’s only 2 ch’s left, but we still have a lot of plot to go. I hope you enjoy this one, it’s a ride, but has been super fun to write!!
> 
> As always thank you for the wonderful support <3

Brooke doesn’t believe in coincidences.

The word itself doesn’t exist to her, neither does the notion. She’s told Nina on many occasions that nothing slots together just because, and that each action amounts to a cause and effect. Nina talks about _fate_ and _destiny_ and the universe aligning, but Brooke disagrees. There’s not a god that she could worship that would make her think otherwise.

She brushes off chance encounters with forgotten faces as just that. Something being a coincidence doesn’t even cross her mind when she claims to speak things into existence. 

Having found herself working alongside Nina - friend, confidant, right hand woman - is not a coincidence. 

Rain on the first day of summer is not a coincidence. 

And if rain on the first day of summer isn’t a coincidence, then neither is snow in April. 

Discovering that the companies new intern makes better coffee than the chain down the street isn’t a coincidence, either; Brooke jokes that it’s a blessing if it’ll keep Nina from feebly swatting a hand at her.

Brooke doesn’t believe in coincidences. She doesn’t, but when Nina tells her that she looks lighter, happier, ever since her meetings with Vanessa, that’s exactly what Brooke calls it.

“ _You know you’re walking around here like a changed woman, right?”._

_“Your point?”._

_“Didn’t have one, really. Vanessa, though?”._

_“Again, your point?”._

A coincidence. 

It’s been another month. Brooke’s spent it reserving her Friday nights exclusively for Vanessa, Saturday mornings that become blurry and Sunday’s that she recaps with Nina at their frequented bar. It means that Brooke strolls into work on Monday with a headache that’s a ghost of a hangover more often than not, sits cradling cups of coffee throughout her briefings. 

“ _You know I’m not letting this go”._

_“Letting what go, Nina?”._

_“Vanessa. You. You and Vanessa”._

Nina chastises her for it, with each glass of wine and martini that they continue to swig. It’s why when another week rolls around, and Brooke’s sat in her office with her thumb hovering over Vanessa’s contact, she groans audibly.

She can hear Nina’s voice in her head - it’s there more often than it’s not - telling her about investors and dealers and finance that they _can_ but can’t afford to mess up. There are whispers of meetings and boardrooms and presentations that Brooke doesn’t care for; the weight of the aggravation pushes on her thumb and she’s pressing the screen of her phone. 

Brooke is calling Vanessa. 

The shrill ringing fills the hollow expanse of her office. Brooke turns off the speaker and presses the phone to her ear, balances it between her shoulder and cheek. She’s halfway to rethinking her decision and cancelling the call when she picks up. 

Vanessa picks up. 

“Is it Friday already?”. Vanessa jokes.

Brooke wishes that it was. 

“I think it’s Tuesday, but correct me if I’m wrong”. Brooke banters.

She hears Vanessa snort. She slumps in her chair, uncrosses her legs, picks up the half empty cup of coffee from her desk. Brooke sips at it, awaits Vanessa’s response. It comes in the form of a breathy chuckle and Brooke digs her nails into the styrofoam. 

“I’m kidding-“. Vanessa drawls.

“-You good, Mami?”.

Brooke wants to tell her _yes_. She wants to tell Vanessa that she’s doing great as much as she wants to tell Nina. She wants to yell at the both of them from the rafters but is worried that what’ll leave her mouth will betray her. She wants to be good - 

\- But she’s _not_.

“I have a meeting tomorrow-“. Brooke starts.

“-And I need to know before I ask you anything else if you’d even _consider_ coming to my office”. She states.

The silence is heavy between them, only broken by Vanessa clicking her tongue against her teeth. She’s still chuckling lowly, as if Brooke is funny, and hums nonchalantly. Brooke taps the point of her heel against the leg of her desk in anticipation, places the cup of coffee back down onto the surface of said desk; she knows she’s seconds away from puncturing it with her fingertips. 

“Oh!-”. Vanessa realises.

“- _Oh_ , you want-“. 

“Yes”.

“At your office?”.

“Yes?”. 

“Isn’t that risky?”.

“ _Yes_ ”.

Brooke sighs, crosses her legs once more. Vanessa taps her fingers against the shell of her phone and Brooke’s able to hear it through the line. She has half a mind to hell her to stop before Vanessa does it on her own accord. Brooke exhales in relief, tunes into Vanessa’s breathing that’s heavy, laboured. 

“If that’s too much then-“. Brooke fixes herself. 

“No!”.

“No?”.

“I - I can do that”.

Brooke doesn’t believe her. 

“ _Vanessa_ -”. Brooke soothes. 

She catches herself. Her tone is too tender, too soft. Brooke doesn’t _do_ tender or soft, rarely does affection or empathy. She doesn’t do them, but Vanessa plants the feelings in her gut, tends to them until the grow, bloom from her lips. Brooke doesn’t know what to do with the information when her heart thuds, skips. 

“-I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. Forget I ever said anything if-“. She trails off. 

Vanessa swallows, and Brooke hears it. They’re both tentative, and it’s another emotion that Brooke doesn’t do, usually. She’s frowning at herself in the reflection of her computer screen, lists forming in her mind. Brooke does harsh, definitive, stoic, a stark contrast to the generosity which she wants to smother Vanessa with. 

Her hands are back on the coffee cup.

“That’s not it”. Vanessa interrupts. 

Brooke feels the dams within her break.

“Then what-“.

“I didn’t expect that from you-”. Vanessa admits. 

Brooke remains silent, pensive.

“-I had you down as the keep business and pleasure separate type. I don’t know. I’ll do it, of course I will, but I ain’t about to pretend I’m not surprised. Are you sure about this? _Fuck_ , Brooke, you wouldn’t even tell me your name a month ago and now-“. Vanessa huffs.

Brooke interjects, nails piercing through the styrofoam. 

“And now I know what I want”. 

If Brooke is still one thing, it’s certain. She tells Vanessa as much in the seconds that follow wordlessly. Whether Vanessa understands entirely or not doesn’t matter, and if Vanessa has questions she doesn’t ask them. Brooke knows what she wants, and Vanessa wants to give it to her.

“And what is that, exactly?”. Vanessa grins. 

_You._

_All of you._

_Everything that you deserve._

_More than I can give you._

Brooke clears her throat. 

“You, in my office, ten o’clock tomorrow morning. Wear something not so obvious. Can you do that?”. Brooke bites. 

She hears hum and then nothing matters. 

“Text me the address”. 

*****

Brooke already has her hand on the door handle when she hears Vanessa’s voice approaching.

She’s introducing herself to Brooke’s secretary, reciting the words Brooke had spoon fed her. They suit her well - each syllable flows off of Vanessa’s tongue like she had crafted them herself - and Brooke’s able to picture the expressions on both Vanessa’s and her secretary’s faces before she cranks open the door. 

“ _Top floor. Ask for Hytes, I’ll be in room one”._

_“You got a secretary or somethin’?”._

_“Yes, actually”._

_“Of course you do. Ten o’clock?”._

_“Yes”._

Brooke pushes down on the door handle. 

She steps out, heels sturdy against the marble tiles. Vanessa’s neck cranes her neck at the sight of her in her peripheral vision, eyes trailing once up the length of her body. Brooke’s dressed differently; her pencil skirt and short sleeved blouse are enough to startle Vanessa, cause her to search for her usual power suit that’s become a regularity. 

“Ms. Hytes!-”. Her secretary interrupts.

“-I have Ms.-“.

“Mateo”. Vanessa clarifies.

“-Ms. _Mateo_ here for her ten o’clock?”. The secretary arches an eyebrow. 

Brooke nods shortly. She looks on approvingly at Vanessa, dressed appropriately, true to her word. Her pants and blazer are fire red, bottoms of her shoes matching. 

She commands her way into Brooke’s office, and Brooke holds the door open, tilts her head in thanks towards her secretary. Said secretary smirks in response, and if she notices the hint of Vanessa’s bra peaking through above her neckline then she says nothing. 

It’s a wise choice.

Contrarily, it’s the first thing that Brooke comments on. 

“How did you know the burgundy was my favourite on you?”. Brooke teases.

She walks Vanessa backwards to her desk, allows her to perch on the edge of it. Vanessa looks every bit the part - Brooke wouldn’t question her if she saw her stalking around the building - and Brooke thinks that she knows it when she crosses her legs, tugs Brooke closer by the collar of her shirt. 

“You ain’t discreet”. Vanessa taunts. 

Brooke gives her the satisfaction, briefly. 

“Alright, Ms. Mateo“. Brooke emphasises.

Vanessa looks at her with eyes that are bright, wanting, and laughs into Brooke’s space.

“You didn’t tell me that front desk bitch would ask for my fuckin’ life story!-“. Vanessa chuckles.

“-She had me thinking I’d need forty five forms of photo ID before you showed up”. She dramatises.

Brooke places her hands either side of Vanessa’s waist. She keeps herself balanced there, lets Vanessa hook her ankles at the small of her back, and leans further into her. Vanessa plants her hands on Brooke’s shoulders, the thin silk of her blouse shifting, twisting. Brooke can feel whatever had been left of her patience dripping away, gliding in drops of rain against the window behind them. 

“Sorry about her-“. Brooke mumbles. 

She’s getting _closer closer closer_ and Vanessa doesn’t stop her. 

“-She’s just going her job. You still sure about this?”. She checks.

Vanessa doesn’t have to respond, doesn’t have to do anything, but Brooke is grateful that she does. She nods her head affirmatively, winds her hands in Brooke’s hair that brushes the top of her spine. Vanessa tugs lightly, draws Brooke nearer and flicks her tongue across her top lip in anticipation. Brooke’s eyes flicker downwards and bile rises in her throat.

It’s too much, not enough. 

Brooke doesn’t know what she had been thinking. 

“Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t“. Vanessa reassures.

Brooke could stop all of it. 

She could tell Vanessa that she’s _sorry_ , apologise, and mean it for once. She could be nothing but contrite and have Vanessa walking out of her office in the suit that she wants rid of, smile still settled upon her face. She could, and knows it. She could, she repeats to herself, Vanessa’s breath hot against her cheek. The wood of the desk creaks beneath them and, god, she _could_ \- 

\- But Vanessa’s lips are on hers.

They’re kissing, hot and slow. Brooke doesn’t fight the anguish that overtakes her when Vanessa’s lips mould with hers, tongue barely grazing her bottom lip. She relaxes into it, ignores everything within her that screams, bellows, no no no, _no_. 

Vanessa’s hands are in her hair, on her back, peeling away her clothes and Brooke wants to die. 

She also wants to make Vanessa come.

So she _does_. 

And if her chest clenches at the sight of Vanessa when she sheds her suit, so be it. If her gut twists when she pulls Vanessa to straddle her on her office chair, then that’s just how it has to be. Brooke doesn’t have enough hours in the day for the doubts that rise like smoke from her lungs when Vanessa’s kissing her, still. 

Because if Brooke’s letting her defences fall, she decides, she’s glad it’s for her, for Vanessa. 

Vanessa comes, Brooke’s fingers working at her clit and thighs clamping down around Brooke’s waist. She moans into Brooke’s neck, leaves mark after mark because the rules are for Brooke, not her; somewhere in the back of her mind she’s wondering how long it’ll be before she breaks another rule just for her, for Brooke. 

Neither think it’ll be as soon as a handful of minutes later when the roles reverse, and Vanessa slips a hand between their bodies. She hikes up Brooke’s skirt, pushes her panties to the side and curls her fingers until Brooke’s whining, groaning into her ear. Vanessa has her on the brink of losing her mind when she tells Brooke to bite _harder_ , her tongue a flame against her collarbones.

“You want me to-“.

“Yeah, Yeah”. 

Vanessa’s confirmation is brief, but it’s all of the consent that Brooke needs. She paints red and purple across her chest, watches branches of blood vessels extend and buds of flowers shed their petals. She comes at the sight of it, Vanessa’s lips back on hers as she heaves in breaths that don’t come, at first.

She pants into Vanessa’s skin, sweat trickling back into her hairline. Brooke’s thankful for Vanessa’s weight atop of her, grounding and present as her muscles relax; she imagines she’d be evaporating into dust if it wasn’t for the arms looped around her shoulders.

“Brooke-“. Vanessa breathes. 

Brooke sniffs.

“-You’re crying”. 

Brooke lifts a hand - it’s bizarre, Vanessa’s right - wipes away a tear that streaks her makeup. Vanessa’s hand is there, too, padding so gently that Brooke wants to cry harder, heavier. She’s certain that she would if it wasn’t for the clock on the wall with its second hand that she swears taunts her. 

“Sorry-“. Brooke hiccups.

“- _Shit_ , sorry”. She collects herself.

“Brooke”.

“I’m-“.

“Stop apologising, you’re good, it’s ok”. 

_It’s ok it’s ok it’s ok._

Brooke doesn’t apologise, doesn’t do feelings, except when she does. 

Vanessa’s hands are on her face, cupping her cheeks, patting away tears that continue to fall sporadically. She kisses at the tracks of mascara that they leave, and Brooke does cry harder, sobs into Vanessa’s shoulder as she strokes through her hair. Her breathing is laboured but Vanessa doesn’t press her; she holds her close until the clock has ticked over the hour and Brooke has pieced herself back together. 

“I think I got mascara on your bra”. Brooke mutters.

There’s a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth and Vanessa doesn’t miss it.

“You got a couple of bruises on me too but I ain’t mad”. Vanessa beams. 

It’s an attempt to calm Brooke’s still trembling hands that make their ways to Vanessa’s waist, and it works, for the most part. Brooke huffs out a chuckle, shrugs noncommittally, grimaces as her eyes focus back in on the marks adorning Vanessa’s chest.

“I shouldn’t have done that”. Brooke’s eyes are wide. 

“I asked for it, it’s all good-“. Vanessa notes

“-There’s a lot we shouldn’t have done”. She adds.

“But we have”. Brooke sighs.

“We have-“. Vanessa agrees.

“-And that’s all good, too”.

*****

They’re silent as they stand, readjust their clothing.

Vanessa buttons Brooke’s shirt for her, ghosts her finger across the top button. Brooke slips Vanessa’s blazer onto her arms for her, too, hooks the front and covers all traces of Vanessa’s bra, this time. 

“ _Keep your head down on the way out, my secretary won’t notice”._

_“She seemed pretty observant to me”._

_“Then walk quickly, don’t say a word”._

Her chest is a battleground of want and lust but neither mention it as Brooke reaches for a scarf that she keeps in her desk draw. She ties it gently around Vanessa’s neck, drapes it across her décolletage and tucks it beneath her lapels. Vanessa smiles, strains out a thank you; Brooke balances her hands on Vanessa’s waist, keeps her thumbs hooked in Vanessa’s belt loops. 

“ _You keep that for emergencies, hm?”._

_“You could say that”._

_“I’ll give it back to you next time”._

Vanessa feels too far away even though they’re inches apart. Brooke wants to tell Vanessa about each and every thought that’s circulating her mind akin to the pattern of butterflies on the scarf that’s wrapped around Vanessa’s neck. She contemplates doing so until Vanessa presses a barely there kiss to her cheek.

“Here-“. Vanessa tries.

She hands Brooke a scrap of paper.

“-It’s my actual number”. She offers. 

Brooke takes the paper tentatively, takes in the messy scrawl. Vanessa’s number is there, signed _Nessa_. Brooke places it onto her desk with a delicacy that softens the frown upon Vanessa’s forehead. Vanessa kisses her again, and Brooke melts. It’s the middle of fall and is getting colder outside but Brooke’s never felt warmer

“Text me-“. Vanessa nods.

“-If you ever ‘wanna just talk, or call me, I don’t care. I’m pretty free these days”. She chuckles.

Her hands drop to her sides, and then they’re not touching. They’re even further apart but Brooke still feels Vanessa’s skin against hers through the eye contact that she maintains. It’s burning, searing; Brooke takes a step towards the door and Vanessa follows. 

“Oh?”. Brooke cocks an eyebrow.

Vanessa challenges it. 

“You know you’ve been singlehandedly paying my bills and then some for the past couple of months, _right_? I can’t remember the last time I saw another fuckin’ client”. Vanessa huffs. 

“I mean, I-“. Brooke comes to a halt.

Vanessa lacks the patience to allow Brooke to finish. 

“Are you _that_ loaded that you forget how much you give me?”. She snickers. 

“No, I just-“. Brooke pauses.

“-I thought you’d spend some on yourself”. She confesses. 

Vanessa looks up at her like she’s unreadable. Brooke guesses that she might be. She puts up a front and Vanessa tears it down, shreds it with her bare hands, but Brooke doesn’t miss the fear in her eyes. Brooke doesn’t doubt that her own don’t fail to mirror them. She’s scared, terrified, is certain that her palms are sweating. She wipes them against her skirt for good measure.

“Not a penny more than I need to”. Vanessa shrugs. 

She takes another step backwards, and Brooke’s shaking her head in disbelief. She’s retrieving a wad of cash from the safe beneath her desk, tucks it mutely into Vanessa’s pocket on her short walk back across the room. Her heels clack with each stride. 

“Treat yourself, for me”. She nods.

Her hand comes to rest atop of Vanessa’s that clutches said pocket. Her fingers twitch beneath Brooke’s touch and it’s all Brooke can do to stop herself from pulling Vanessa back in. Vanessa’s looking at her like she’s on the same page and Brooke’s chest has never felt tighter. 

“You’re _insane_ , Mami-”. Vanessa giggles. 

She steps back into Brooke’s space for the last time. 

“-The offers still there, y’know? Text me if you need me. I mean it”. 

Brooke doesn’t doubt her, and when the kiss goodbye that Vanessa plants on her lips hurts more than it ever has, Brooke doesn’t complain. 

She deserves it.

*****

Nina finds out, and Brooke doesn’t mind.

She waltzes into Brooke’s office minutes after Vanessa leaves, sits down in the chair opposite Brooke’s desk and pours herself a tumbler of whiskey from the minibar. She drinks half of it down with a wince before she attempts conversation, slides the bottle across the desk to Brooke who swigs straight from it. 

“That was her, wasn’t it?”.

Brooke shrugs. 

“You’re screwed, aren’t you?”. 

Brooke shrugs again. 

“This is your fault”. Brooke grunts. 

She’s joking and Nina knows it but the statement reigns true. Nina had suggested a call girl, had given Brooke V’s card and number. It had been Nina’s idea to see her for a second time, and a third and a fourth, too. It had been Nina’s idea, all of it, But Nina had never once hinted at forming the dynamic that she has with Vanessa. Brooke can’t blame her for that, no matter how hard she tries. 

Nina regards her carefully.

“You’re in love with her”. Nina narrows her eyes.

Brooke shakes her head, tells Nina to keep her voice down.

“I’m not in love with her”.

“But you could be?”. 

Brooke contemplates it, nods her head. The realisation doesn’t shock her but it does unsettle her. She twists in her chair, takes another sip from the bottle of whiskey that’s growing sweaty in her hands. She sets it down onto her desk, knows that she’s seconds away from letting it slip accidentally, and turns to Nina with pursed lips. Nina’s already looking back at her with sympathy and Brooke wishes she wasn’t looking at her at all. 

“I don’t want to talk about it”. Brooke deflects.

Nina frowns but doesn’t push. 

“Sure thing, honey-“. 

“-But we do need to talk. About the meeting this afternoon?”. Nina reminds her. 

Brooke hadn’t forgotten. 

“Right-“. Brooke clears her throat, stands abruptly.

“- _Right_ ”.

*****

Nina carries the both of them through the meeting, and Brooke knows then that she’s a lost cause. 

She watches from the passenger seat when she once conducted the rally, only nods her head and mutters vague yeses when appropriate. Nina watches her go down in flames and doesn’t bother to extinguish the blaze that burns through the floorboards; they end the day in Nina’s office in piles of ashes. 

Brooke ignores the wine that Nina offers her and it’s then that Nina knows, too. 

Nina drinks the glass of wine for her along with her own, buries her face in her hands when Brooke shakes her head. Brooke is still smoking even with all of the water that Nina douses on her, skin blistering and bones crumbling. Nina doesn’t have it in her to ask questions, and skirts around verbalising them by pouring another glass. 

Brooke answers them anyway. 

“This isn’t about her-“. Brooke grunts. 

Nina leans subconsciously across the desk. 

“-I swear it’s not”. She’s not convincing and she knows it. 

Nina has her scrutiny focused solely on Brooke, her eyebrows furrowed. Brooke looks back at her with an emptiness that rivals that of Nina’s glass, her fingernails tapping menially at her knee. She shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly at Nina’s expression; Brooke’s never seen Nina angry but thinks that she’s getting too close for comfort.

“Then tell me, Brooke, or so help me _god_ ”. She grits her teeth. 

Brooke shakes her head once more, defiantly. 

“Not yet”.

“Then when?”. Nina looks on hopelessly. 

“Soon”.

_Soon_. It’s an empty promise that Brooke’s not going to stick to. Or at least, she probably won’t. Nina doesn’t know what to believe when Brooke’s eyes well with tears and she’s crying silently, averting her gaze. Brooke wipes them away as quickly as they fall, though she’s not quick enough to pretend that they were never there. Nina’s seen them, seen her. 

“At least tell me where you’re at”. 

Brooke doesn’t utter a word.

She doesn’t tell Nina that she’s grown to loathe her job, the responsibilities and connotations that it brings. She doesn’t tell her that she feels like she’s lost ten years of her life, and that she misses the innocence, the motivation of a twenty-one year old Brooke who was just excited to be able to afford her rent, for once. 

Brooke doesn’t tell her that Vanessa’s appearances are the only reason that she’s still trying, either, despite it being a grey area. She doesn’t even dare think about what it implies, and settles for embracing Nina. It’s crushing, and Brooke tells her only what she’s certain of; Nina let’s her go home early, Brooke doesn’t argue.

“ _Love you, you know that?”._

_“I know. I do. Go, get some rest. I’ve got this here”._

_“Give me time, and I’ll tell you. I will”._

_“I said I know. You have my word”._

Nina trusts her, and it’s enough - 

\- For now.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brooke stays silent, this time. Vanessa allows her the moment that she knows that she needs. It’s a lot to take in, would be for anybody, but Brooke had texted her and had answered the phone with a trembling voice and Vanessa knows. She needs longer.
> 
> “Brooke”.
> 
> “Hm?”.
> 
> Brooke simply hums.
> 
> “I have a client tonight-“. Vanessa starts.
> 
> “-But I swear if you tell me now, I won’t go. I won’t do it, god damn it. You have my word, I’ll drop everything”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penultimate chapter? Wild! As always, thank you guys so so much for the lovely comments on the last ch, it means so much!! I’ll wrap things up next ch, but for now, enjoy 3.6k words of pining followed by fluff. 
> 
> Let me know your thoughts!<3

Brooke doesn’t call or see Vanessa for the next month.

She throws herself into her work, becomes the co worker that Nina deserves. She tells herself that it’s for the best. And it is, she guesses. She convinces herself of it when it’s midnight on a Friday and her heart is racing from whiskey. 

“ _One more drink, come on”._

_“Brooke, we have a nine o’clock with the Johnson’s tomorrow”._

_“Just one”._

_“One, and then I’m done”._

Nina watches from her position at her side, observes as Brooke becomes the force that she had known her to be. Brooke commands meetings and leads briefings like she’s been doing it for years; Nina has to remind herself that she _has_ , and that Brooke knows what she’s doing.

Brooke goes back to wearing her power suits, invests in one that’s bright red. It compliments the soles of her heels that get higher, taller, and she tells herself it’s not a reflection of Vanessa because it isn’t. Nina argues otherwise and Brooke wants to melt through the floor of the boardroom, drown in another extra shot coffee or martini.

“ _Red? Really?”._

_“What’s wrong with it?”._

_“When have you ever worn red?”._

_“My shoes are exclusively red bottoms, thank you”._

_“So this has nothing to do with a certain someone wearing a very similar suit here a couple of weeks ago?”._

_“Not at all”._

They get new investors on board, clients that Brooke could have once only envisioned in far off lists of goals. She secures them along with Nina, and colleagues that she doesn’t care to learn the names of because they’ll be gone in a matter of months, she knows.

Nina is different. 

Nina will stay, longer than the men who ran the establishment before her and longer than Brooke herself will stay, she’s aware of that much. She’ll stay through all of it, watch as Brooke throws herself into her work, commands meetings and wears power suits that cost more than half of the interns cars combined; she’ll understand when Brooke tells her that it’s still not enough, too.

“ _I hate this”._

_“You need to talk about it?”._

_“Not yet. Let me finish this case, then I’ll tell you”._

_“Whatever you need. You know that”._

The eight figures in her bank hit nine, and it’s still not enough.

It’s not enough when she finishes said case and toasts to it with a glass of champagne, either. 

Nina takes her to her office to celebrate, and Brooke does nothing but fizzle out like a party popper. Nina watches her explode in confetti and then fall to the ground. Brooke cries into her shoulder for the first time since a drunken night in their early twenties and Brooke knows then that something has to give. 

She apologises profusely into Nina’s chest, cries streaks of mascara down her cheeks and spills the dregs of four-hundred-dollar champagne down the lapels of her blazer. She wipes them away but it’s too late. The damage has been done and Brooke’s unable to find a rug to sweep it under. 

“ _I haven’t seen you cry this much since you found out I was getting married - the first time”._

_“Not funny, Nina”._

_“Lightening the mood, honey. Or, at least I’m trying to”._

Brooke changes out of her suit. 

It’s too constricting, she feels like she’s choking. She switches out her pants for a pair of leggings she keeps in her desk drawer for yoga, takes the offer of Nina’s sweatshirt that swamps her. She scrunches her hands into fists with the excess fabric that gathers around her wrists, kicks off her heels. 

She replaces them with barely worn sneakers, white and new and pure. It feels wrong to be wearing them when she has blood on her hands, guilt hanging over her head. She tells herself that it shouldn’t matter when it’s her own blood, and she’s holding the knife, watching it glint in the low light of the company bathrooms. 

Her eyes stare blankly back at her through the mirror.

Nina finds her whilst she’s still crying and Brooke apologises again. It isn’t her, isn’t them, and Nina sends her off with words that blast louder than the radio of her driver as he navigates her home, briefcase hanging limply in her grasp and hair detangled from its meticulous up-do.

“ _Call her. Call Vanessa”._

*****

Brooke doesn’t call her, but she does text, and it’s a start.

**_Brooke_ : Hi Nessa, it’s Brooke. I know it’s been a while, but text me when you get this? I’d like to talk **

She crawls into bed at seven o’clock on a Friday night, makes herself a cup of scalding herbal tea and leaves it to cool on her nightstand. She wraps herself in blankets that she knows that she doesn’t need now that spring has arrived, and clutches her phone to her chest. Her toes curl into her duvet and shivers form across her shins regardless. 

Brooke’s skin feels like it’s on fire and being frozen simultaneously. She wants to scratch at it until the ice calms the flames, only decides against it when her hands reach for her mug of tea. She spreads her fingers against the porcelain, doesn’t care if it’s on the wrong side of room temperature, and sips at it slowly; it burns at her tongue but so does the name Vanessa. 

_Vanessa_. 

Brooke had typed out a short message, had sent it in a daze that didn’t allow for second guessing. Brooke silently sings the praises of Nina’s persuasions, mulls over the plethora of possible responses that could come, ones that would be typical of Vanessa. Brooke dares herself to picture her with the same level of enthusiasm -

\- And has her hopes shattered before she’s even gotten them up.

*****

Brooke doesn’t call or see Vanessa for the next month, and Vanessa throws herself into her work.

She reacquaints herself with clients that she’d put on the back burner for as long as Brooke had taken up her evenings, filled her pockets to the brim. They leave as quickly as they appear, in standard hotel rooms with queen sized beds and mini fridges. Vanessa stays long after they’ve gone; she develops a habit of reaching for the mini bar, drinking her way through until morning. 

And she doesn’t complain. 

Vanessa thinks that she’s lucky, though uses the word tentatively. Finding the clientele to pay her sufficiently hadn’t been luck, and neither had doing her job successfully. She’s as intelligent as she is alluring and knows what she’s doing, most of the time, thinks through every detail of each visit, every kiss that she doesn’t allow. 

Luck only becomes a fleeting thought when Brooke enters the picture. 

She gets a call from her - the first call of many, so many - sometime in the middle of winter. Vanessa answers like she does every client, her voice pleasant and husky, though the responses come few and far between. She asks her what she can do for her, tells her that the clock is ticking and quizzes her on her name. 

Only Brooke doesn’t tell her.

She doesn’t tell her then and she doesn’t tell her for over a month afterwards. Brooke holds her name close to her chest but hands out money like it’s candy, treats Vanessa with overnight stays in luxurious hotels and tender smiles that she’s never had before, really. 

Brooke is - she’s _something_. 

She’s not like Vanessa’s other clients but is the archetype of all they ever have been and all they ever will be. She doesn’t do this, but enjoys it. She’s not controlling, but is assertive in ways Vanessa’s come to expect from the corporate bosses in suits; Brooke looksevery bit the part in her blazer and heels that ensure she towers over Vanessa’s shorter frame. 

And Vanessa thinks that she’s lucky for it.

Because she’d never intended to break rules for Brooke, had never contemplated breaking her entrenched set for any client, but she’d done so regardless, and thinks that she’s lucky.

She calls herself lucky when Brooke is the one to fuck her senseless during their first meeting, and not the other way around, for once. She feels lucky when Brooke tells her her name, eventually, and even luckier when Brooke asks for the kiss that Vanessa’s been wanting, longing for since Brooke’s lips had pressed themselves to her cheeks, neck, collarbones. 

_Luck_. 

She still feels lucky when her heart decides to make room for her even as she fights it. 

*****

Vanessa’s sat on her bed, compact mirror and eyeliner brush in hand when Brooke texts her.

It’s seven o’clock on a Friday, and Brooke is _texting_ her. Vanessa doesn’t know what to do with herself when her chest clenches and her eyes drift, cross the room to the set of lingerie she has folded atop of her dresser.She picks up her phone, reads said message; it’s heavy in her hand and Vanessa’s never wanted the ground to swallow her up more. 

**_Brooke_ : Hi Nessa, it’s Brooke. I know it’s been a while, but text me when you get this? I’d like to talk **

Vanessa huffs our a chuckle, because of course Brooke texts her then, with her hair freshly curled and body smelling of vanilla from the shower. Of course she has to, she has the nerve to text her and inhabit Vanessa’s mind, her heart, her fingertips that betray her every want.

She can’t, not yet. 

**_Vanessa_ : Hey you, you good? I’m meant to be with a client soon, you need anything? **

She wants to tell Brooke anything but. She wants to tell her that she’s available to talk, available for more. She wants Brooke outside of their usual hotel room at The Dominick, wants Brooke at a bar, in her living room, her bedroom. It’s a want, and it’s a want that she yearns for, but it’s not part of the plan.

Brooke will leave with her head held high and it still won’t be part of the plan. 

Vanessa awaits for a message that takes seconds to come through. 

**_Brooke_ : Sorry, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it**

Vanessa wants to scream. Brooke acts nonchalant but Vanessa knows that she’s anything but. Vanessa can determine in her lingering touches and willingness to be open in front of her, Vanessa, that she’s everything but the disinterest that she feigns. She sends off a further message with the tip of her liner brush nestled between her front teeth.

**_Vanessa_ : Sure? **

Brooke doesn’t respond. 

Vanessa sits stationary on her bed, repaints her eyeliner a further three times as she waits, waits, waits for Brooke. She’s halfway to admitting that Brooke doesn’t want her like that, doesn’t need her at all in the grand scheme of things when her phone is chiming. Vanessa grapples at it feebly; Brooke’s name is there and it’s all of the go ahead that she needs to pick up the phone. 

**Brooke: Actually, no**

Vanessa’s jaw clenches.

**_Vanessa_ : Can I call you?**

**_Vanessa_ : I’m gonna call you **

The ringing is sharp, but Brooke answers. 

She’s quiet, and Vanessa doesn’t blame her. 

“Nessa-“. Brooke clears her throat. 

It’s the first thing that she says and she has Vanessa wrapped around her finger. Vanessa’s never been happier to be there. 

“-I don’t want sex”. 

It’s blunt, and maybe Vanessa laughs, but it’s something, and she lets herself run with it. She dares to believe that Brooke’s on the same page, and thinks that she might be when Brooke’s breathing heavily down the phone line. Vanessa feels for her; her palms are sweaty and fumbling with the cap of her lipstick. 

“Ok-“. Vanessa sighs. 

“-Ok, _fuck_ ”.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s been ages but I just, I had to at least try talking to you and if you don’t want to that’s ok, Ness, it’s ok, because I can’t-“. 

“ _Breathe_ ”. Vanessa interjects. 

“M’sorry”. Brooke’s gained a habit for apologising, Vanessa doesn’t miss it. 

“No, _god_ , ok. Jesus, you don’t do things by half, do ‘ya?”.Vanessa jokes. 

She tries to keep it lighthearted, but the static on the phone line between them is heavy. Brooke’s breathing grows laboured and Vanessa’s nails tap at her knee. Vanessa focuses on the fabric of her bed sheets against her skin, her hair that tickles her back. It’s not as grounding as she wishes it was but it’s enough.

It’ll have to be. 

“Look-“. Brooke’s voice is soft.

“-I don’t have a clue what the fuck I’m doing, but if I don’t do something I know I’ll regret it”. 

_I know I’ll regret it._

_If I don’t do something._

Vanessa doesn’t respond in the seconds that it takes for Brooke to begin overthinking again. She’s talking and Vanessa hears her but she doesn’t, not really. Vanessa’s heartbeat is deafening in her ears and she wants nothing more than to reach into her chest, crush it in her palm. 

“I shouldn’t have texted”. Brooke mutters.

“You should have texted sooner”. Vanessa’s quicker to respond this time. 

Brooke stays silent, this time. Vanessa allows her the moment that she knows that she needs. It’s a lot to take in, would be for anybody, but Brooke had texted her and had answered the phone with a trembling voice and Vanessa knows. She needs longer. 

“ _Brooke_ ”. 

“Hm?”.

Brooke simply hums.

“I have a client tonight-“. Vanessa starts. 

“-But I swear if you tell me now, I won’t go. I won’t do it, god damn it. You have my word, I’ll drop everything”. 

Vanessa swallows, hard, and Brooke gasps into her ear. It’s more than Vanessa had been hoping for, more than Brooke could have imagined, and Vanessa’s grinning when Brooke’s exhaling raggedly. She tells Vanessa that _yes, yes, anything_ , and Vanessa presses her fingers to her lips to quell her smile. It’s futile, doesn’t work, and she smudges her lipstick but it’s irrelevant. 

“Ok-“. Vanessa beams.

“-I’m ‘gonna need your address, Mami”. 

*****

Brooke’s vision is blurry when she answers the door to her apartment. 

But Vanessa is on the other side of it, and it’s all that’s important. 

She’s stood there in a silk, red camisole dress, black heels and fur coat that isn’t faux, this time. She looks expensive and Brooke is proud of her, happy for her. Brooke thinks the best thing about her attire is the soft smile that she wears upon her face, the subtle glint in her eyes; Brooke feels underdressed in her sweatpants and T-shirt. 

“ _Hey_ ”. Vanessa grins, takes a tentative step forward. 

Brooke relishes in the way the light of the chandelier hung from the ceiling of her hallway illuminates Vanessa’s skin. It’s warm, a halo above her head, and Brooke steps aside to allow her to enter the apartment. Vanessa nods appreciatively and Brooke clicks the door shut behind them with a snap. 

She turns to Vanessa, socks slipping against the marble floors.

“Do you want to me to uh-“. Brooke stutters.

“-Let me take your coat”.

Shaking her head, Vanessa shrugs off the material. She folds it in her arms, hooks it on the bannister of the grand staircase. The breeze that the action creates tickles at Brooke’s skin and Brooke leans closer to Vanessa subconsciously.

“I got it, don’t worry”. Vanessa reassures. 

Brooke leads them through the corridor and to the living room. Vanessa’s rambling about how Brooke is rich rich, and that her home is beautiful but Brooke doesn’t care. It’s not what’s at the forefront of her mind when Vanessa’s pulling her down to the couch, tucking her legs beneath her. 

She sits close to Brooke. So close that Brooke can feel her breath on her cheek, hot and calming. It’s all that Brooke needs to relax into her side, elbow resting on the back of said couch. Vanessa’s in her space, still, heels digging into the leather beneath her. Brooke doesn’t have the heart to scald her when Vanessa’s lashes flutter against her cheek, and her words are soft in her ear. 

“You look good”. Vanessa mumbles. 

_You look good._

Brooke wants to laugh. She does laugh, at Vanessa’s audacity, her brazen interest. She sits there with the neckline of her dress falling, slipping, exposing her bra, and Brooke thinks she could die happily with the sight etched into her eyelids. She thinks that she might when Vanessa’s hand migrates to her thigh. 

She curls her fingers around it, and Brooke forces out a breath.

“You want a drink?”. Brooke tries.

It feels like an empty offer, and it is. Vanessa shakes her head no, _no_. She doesn’t want a drink, she tells Brooke. Brooke nods her head in understanding and licks her tongue across her bottom lip as Vanessa scrutinises her with a singular swoop of her gaze.

Brooke places her own hand on top of Vanessa’s and squeezes. Vanessa looks up at her and it’s a switch flipped. She’s there, in Brooke’s apartment, and she looks like that. Brooke doesn’t trust herself and blinks her eyes. Vanessa’s still there, still in her apartment, and she feels like she’s dreamt it up; Vanessa’s looking at her with the same look that she’s had since their morning in Brooke’s office.

Lust, mostly.

Comfort, certainly.

Love, _nearly_.

Vanessa kisses her once, and then they start talking. 

“ _I’m done, Vanessa”._

_“Me too”._

_“Change is good, right?”._

_“It’s necessary”._

Vanessa toes off her heels, straddles Brooke’s lap and loops her arms around her neck. Brooke inhales the scent of her perfume that’s all vanilla and spice and Vanessa. She doesn’t want to come up for air if it means Vanessa will keep whispering in her ears, pressing delicate kisses to the tips of her ears, her cheekbones. 

Brooke pulls a blanket from the back of the couch and drapes it over the both of them. She curls her sock cladfeet into the cushions of the couch and Vanessa dims the lamp that sits on the chest of drawers next to them. They get closer, _talk talk talk_ , and Brooke feels herself lightening to the extent that she’s certain she’d evaporate to dust if it wasn’t for Vanessa’s weight atop of her. 

She tells Vanessa as much and is silenced with another kiss. 

Brooke doesn’t complain. 

“ _Threw my work phone in a fuckin’ lake on the way here, y’know?”._

_“You’re crazy”._

_“You already knew that”._

_“I did. I’m telling Nina that I want out as soon as this case is over”._

Brooke cries, and Vanessa holds her. She sobs into Vanessa’s shoulder and Vanessa sheds a tear, too, muffles her sniffles in the cotton of Brooke’s T-shirt. Brooke strokes her hand across the small of Vanessa’s back and pulls her closer still, hikes Vanessa’s dress up to her hips with a chuckle; Brooke argues that she’ll be more comfortable and Vanessa’s not going to protest when she’s right.

She sinks down further, envelopes Brooke’s lips with her own during a lull in their conversation. There’s no heat behind it, and it’s nice. Brooke’s able to lose herself in Vanessa’s hand on her cheek, her thumb that pads across her brow bone aimlessly. Vanessa hums into it and Brooke grips tighter at her waist, just in case. 

“ _You went to college?”._

_“Mhm, performing arts. Turns out I can’t act for shit, unless faking orgasms counts”._

_“Don’t bruise my ego here, but have you ever had to? With me?”._

_“Not once”._

_“Well, that’s reaffirming”._

They laugh, more than Brooke’s mind has allowed her to in a while. Her chest aches with it and her throat grows hoarse, but that doesn’t matter, either. Vanessa keeps talking to her and kissing her and Brooke has to stop her eyes from slipping closed in exhaustion when they make it to Saturday and Vanessa’s still there, fingers in her hair. 

Brooke yawns, and Vanessa catches it. Brooke directs them to bed, despite her resistance - she wants to talk to Vanessa until next week, next month, next _year_ \- and watches from her position beneath her duvet cover as Vanessa peels away her clothes. She drops her dress, her bra, and slouches into a sweater of Brooke’s. 

It hangs past the line of her lace panties, and Brooke embraces her gladly when she joins her in the bed, jokes about their height difference. Vanessa’s toes are cold against Brooke’s shins, but Brooke doesn’t flinch; she entangles her legs with Vanessa’s legs like it’s second nature, as if it’s normal.

Brooke hopes that it gets to be.

_“I met with my lawyer last week”._

_“Yeah?”._

_“She thinks I could get out with forty”._

_“Percent?”._

_“Yeah”._

_“Jesus, Brooke”._

Vanessa hooks a leg across Brooke’s waist, tucks her head into the space between Brooke’s jaw and collar bones. She kisses at whatever patch of skin that she’s able to reach, and Brooke wants her in every way. Vanessa blinks up at her like she wants it too and Brooke feels her lithe fingers tugging at her heart strings. 

“ _I want to take you on a date”._

_“You do?”._

_“And take you shopping. Treat you. Money suits you”._

_“Tell me more”._

_“Tomorrow, Ness. There’s so much more”_.

“ _I’ll hold you to that”._

Brooke’s eyes are closed. Vanessa’s still peppering kisses to her chest, has snaked a hand beneath Brooke’s shirt. She splays her fingers out across her abdomen, absorbs the excitement, the adoration that radiates off of Brooke. If Brooke feels her grip tighten, she doesn’t mention it, and neither does Vanessa, because it’s good. 

It’s _good_. 

Vanessa kisses her, once. It speaks for all of the words that go unsaid, for now, and Brooke opens her eyes briefly just to witness Vanessa’s slipping closed. She returns the kiss, pulls the duvet tighter around the both of them, and is halfway dragged under by slumber when Vanessa speaks once more. 

“Can we start with breakfast tomorrow?”. 

Brooke’s heart swells, and this time, she doesn’t fight it.

“ _Anything you want”._

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brooke’s got her hand on the handle of Nina’s office door, has her feet leading her out into the hallway. She halts at Nina’s words, grins, nods her head. There’s a spring in her step and she holds her head high. Nina looks on in approval and Brooke knows then that the tethers been cut; there’s a box of belongings in her office that she should take but she doesn’t want them.
> 
> They’re not hers.
> 
> “Oh, I know-“. Brooke beams.
> 
> “-Now If you’ll excuse me, I have a boardroom not to be in and a woman waiting in my apartment to ask on a date that should have happened a long time ago”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it! 
> 
> This part feels bittersweet to post just because I didn’t think I’d end up loving this au as much as I have, but I’m so happy you guys have liked it!! Thank you to anybody and everybody who’s ever supported me on it, given me feedback and comments that keep me going <3
> 
> Also I may have a soft spot for these characters and have a couple of future one shots planned, so stay tuned! 
> 
> As always, let me know what you think!<3

Brooke tells Nina that she wants out, and Brooke knows from Nina’s smile that she sees it coming from a mile off.

She tells her in a way that’s predictably Brooke, over two glasses of whiskey in her office that they refill on tap. Nina laughs along drunkenly and Brooke wonders why it’s taken her so long just to say it, to do it. Her smile doesn’t falter and Brooke feels waves of guilt drowning her out; Nina would have never been anything but supportive and she feels foolish for assuming otherwise. 

“You’re about to become a billionaire at thirty three because of this, you know that?”. Nina queries.

“I know”. 

“And you’re still sat here?”. She jokes.

“Should I be doing something else?”. 

Nina places her hand atop of Brooke’s in a gesture of comfort, and Brooke lets herself relax. She’s shrugged off her blazer, has it folded over the back of the chair, and has her legs crossed, right over left. Her back is slumped and Nina watches her with an arched eyebrow, makes a comment about posture that Brooke doesn’t catch. 

Brooke lets herself bask in the brief lightness that comes with the confession. There’s going to be a tougher time that comes, a period where Brooke won’t be able to blink without lawyers and accountants forcing themselves down her throat. It’s going to happen, is going to consume her. But it’s not yet, and it’s enough. 

She decides that she can allow herself the pleasure. 

“I can’t say I didn’t see it coming”. Nina notes.

“Of course not-“. Brooke nods.

“-You’d be lying if you did”.

“Quite right”. 

Brooke feels like a feather even as nina keeps talking. Her shoulders don’t ache as she moves them and even the pinch of her heels against her feet isn’t unbearable, for once. She scuffs the point of her toes against the floor and Nina laughs brashly. Brooke snickers and joins her in giggling, snorting, throwing back whiskey like it’s water. 

Nina casts her vision from Brooke’s disheveled hair downwards, and Brooke meets her gaze. She smirks in response, leans across the desk between them and into Nina’s space. Nina looks back at her with narrowed eyes and Brooke shrugs. A lot still goes unsaid between them but it’s progress. 

Brooke chooses to believe that it’s for the best. 

“I _am_ sorry”. Brooke blurts. 

“No you’re not”. Nina shakes her head. 

There’s a soft smile upon Nina’s face and Brooke knows that she’s not mad, really. Brooke laughs lightly and refills both of their glasses, fills them more than she knows she should. Nina tells her that she hates whiskey but drinks it regardless of what she says, eyes locked with Brooke’s. Brooke focuses on the bob of Nina’s throat and huffs out a sigh. 

“I am-“. Brooke persuades.

“-But I have to do it”. 

“I know”. Nina simpers. 

Brooke regards her, drains her glass for all it has. Nina sits back in her chair and Brooke sits forward. She puts her discarded blazer back on - the watch on her wrist tells her the day has gone on longer than she’d thought - and buttons it under Nina’s scrutiny. She hiccups once, frowns and clutches her chest.

“Nina”.

“No-“. Nina shakes her head.

“-I get it, honey. I do. You’ve done so much, you _are_ so much. You’ve created all of this. Let somebody else take over”. She offers. 

It’s not what Brooke expects but it isn’t far off. Nina stops her from standing with a hand on her bicep and Brooke feels her fingers clench through the fabric of her jacket. They falter when Brooke shakes her head and it’s all she can do not shrug Nina off entirely. 

She clears her throat. 

Nina sighs, and lets go, eventually. Brooke stands and rounds Nina’s side of the desk, drops a hand to her shoulder. She squeezes softly, tilts Nina’s head up to look at her with a finger beneath her chin, thumb stroking at her cheek. Nina looks at her with skin that’s flushed and eyes that are blown; Brooke knows a drunk Nina when she sees one and she’s half way there. 

“Would you ever?”. Brooke asks.

“Ever what?”.

“Take over, if you could”. 

Nina is still coherent, for the most part. Brooke tells herself that she wouldn’t dare attempt conversation with an incoherent Nina even if she probably would, definitely would. Nina blinks dumbly and shrugs her shoulders, contemplates it as a slow hand comes to cover Brooke’s own. 

Brooke gives her the extra seconds that she knows she needs and takes a step backwards. Nina follows her and stands on shaking legs, teeters back and forth in and out of Brooke’s line of sight. If Brooke feels the effects of the alcohol herself she doesn’t mention it, chooses not to. For Nina’s sake, she tells herself, even as her vision grows blurry. 

“I-“. Nina pauses. 

“-Yes”. She decides.

“Ok-“. Brooke nods.

“Then I’ll do everything in my power to see your name on this building, West”. 

Nina looks at Brooke with all of the love that she harbours within her body, and Brooke embraces it gladly. Nina nods her head graciously, takes one of Brooke’s hands in her own and squeezes. Brooke reciprocates and it’s right, it’s nice. Nina’s name belongs there, hers doesn’t, and she thinks she might be ok with that. 

Even if it takes her a bittersweet while.

“You know you’re not failing, right?”. Nina adds. 

Brooke’s got her hand on the handle of Nina’s office door, has her feet leading her out into the hallway. She halts at Nina’s words, grins, nods her head. There’s a spring in her step and she holds her head high. Nina looks on in approval and Brooke knows then that the tethers been cut; there’s a box of belongings in her office that she should take but she doesn’t want them. 

They’re not hers.

“Oh, I know-“. Brooke beams. 

“-Now If you’ll excuse me, I have a boardroom not to be in and a woman waiting in my apartment to ask on a date that should have happened a _long_ time ago”. 

***** 

Brooke gets home, and it’s silent. 

It’s barely six o’clock in the evening and the sun is still perched on its shelf in the sky. Brooke wants it to stay there for as long as possible when she pads through to the living room, calls out Vanessa’s name. The response is an echo from the bathroom, down an adjoining hallway, and Brooke follows it numbly.

She can still feel the whisky trickling in her veins, buzzing through to her bones. It makes her feel warm, but the steam that meets her skin when she opens the bathroom door is warmer. 

Vanessa has the window propped open with a scented candle but the mirror is still fogged up with steam. Brooke takes a further step into the room and kicks off her heels, inhales the streams of spice and vanilla that waft up to her.

It makes her feel heady, but she centres herself enough to flicker her eyes to the shower. Vanessa’s silhouette is visible through the frosted glass and Brooke’s shuffling across the tiled floor with a grin on her face, pushing the window open further. If Vanessa hears her then she doesn’t mention it, but Brooke catches the twitch of the muscles in her back, peels off her pantsuit with ease.

She tosses it to the laundry basket in the corner of the room, stands in merely her panties. She leans back against the countertop, braces her hands on the edge of the sink and watches.

_Silently_. 

Vanessa moves around her shower like she was born to be there, in Brooke’s space. She lathers her body with plentiful amounts of sugar scrubs, shower gels which scents build and build and build within the room. Brooke inhales them and holds them in her lungs, holds vanessa in her mind and her chest, her heart and 

\- Her arms. 

Brooke slides her panties down her hips, past her thighs and to the floor. She neglects to toss them into the laundry basket, tells herself she’ll pick them up later, and pries open the shower door with trembling fingers and a confident smile. Her hand slips on the pane of glass and she snickers to herself.

She does so not so silently. 

Vanessa turns to face her the instant that the door creaks, and Brooke tucks her own hair behind her ears. Vanessa’s hair is slicked back from the water of the shower, and Brooke tugs on a strand that drips into her palm. Vanessa leans into her touch and reaches around Brooke’s back in order to slip the door closed behind her. 

Brooke lets her do so and crowds Vanessa against the wall. She squeaks when the scorching skin of her back meets the frigid glass but says nothing, pulls Brooke down by a hand on her neck. Brooke lets her do that, too, and presses their foreheads against one and others as Vanessa breathes hot onto her lips. 

“How’d it go?”. Vanessa asks.

“Yeah”. Brooke nods.

“Yeah?”.

“ _Mhm_ -”. Brooke tilts her head.

“-Nina’s an angel”. She laughs.

She means it, and Vanessa laughs too.

Brooke has Vanessa exhaling into her mouth, has her arms looped around her neck, and suddenly she’s sober. The water from the shower head beats down on her skin, a billion miniature bruises, a billion dollar coins that leave their marks. Vanessa presses her thumbs into her skin like she knows she’s able to soothe them; Brooke forgets that they were ever there when Vanessa connects their lips.

“So-“. Vanessa drawls between languid kisses. 

“-You did it”. 

“I did”. She’s triumphant. 

“And Nina?”.

“Solo head of the company _and_ the money that she’ll have coming in from her next divorce? That woman’s doing great things”. Brooke chuckles. 

Vanessa laughs again, openly, drags kisses down from Brooke’s lips and to her jaw, her neck and her collarbones. Brooke leans into them subconsciously, lets out a whine when Vanessa wraps her lips around a nipple, laps at it with her tongue. She moans gently, is drowned out by the sound of the water hitting the tiles, and repositions herself so that her teeth skim Vanessa’s ear lobe. 

“Ness”. Brooke mewls. 

Vanessa releases Brooke’s nipple, follows the same trail back towards her mouth. Brooke lets her place kiss after kiss, Vanessa’s tongue brushing sporadically against her bottom lip, teeth tugging a groan from within her lungs. Brooke thinks that she’d be blushing if it wasn’t for the heat already prickling at her skin, blotches forming across her chest. 

“You’re doing great things, too”. Vanessa notes.

Brooke peers down into her eyes that reflect the want that Brooke exudes. Vanessa stares back at her, scratches her nails across the top notches of Brooke’s spine. Brooke shivers, and Vanessa blinks, and Brooke’s feeling feelings, a lot of them. She swallows them down but they rise again in her throat and Vanessa’s there, still. 

She decides then that she’s not going to fight them again. 

It’s not worth it, is impossible. Vanessa is proof of that in all of the ways that she simply is. She exists and Brooke finds herself in awe. It’s new, but promising, and Brooke nods her head, kisses across her cheekbones and drops her hands to Vanessa’s waist. She grips tightly, squeezes, and smirks into Vanessa’s hairline.

“I think I could be doing greater things”. Brooke tries.

“Like what?”. Vanessa cocks an eyebrow.

Brooke presses her thigh between both of Vanessa’s spread legs and she knows, then.

“ _This_ ”. 

Vanessa’s breath hitches, and Brooke drinks down her moans eagerly. She can’t see for the water that buds in droplets on her eyelashes when she manoeuvres them, hikes Vanessa’s legs up around her waist and presses her into to the tiles. She can’t see, but it doesn’t matter, because she’s able to feel.

She can feel Vanessa as she writhes against her, feel Vanessa’s tongue on hers, her nipples hard and digging into Brooke’s chest. She can make out the drag of Vanessa’s fingernails against her spine amongst the scalding water, and smiles into their kisses that grow slower, deeper. 

Vanessa tightens her legs and crosses her ankles at the small of Brooke’s back. Brooke keeps a strong hand on one thigh, holding her up, the other stroking steadily downwards from her temple. Vanessa keens into the touch, kisses tenderly at Brooke’s wrist. 

“This is real”. Vanessa states.

“It is”. 

“We’re doing this”.

“We are”. 

The words carry a lot. They’re weighted and drop like sand off of Vanessa’s tongue, form shores in the waves of water pooling at their feet. Brooke knows what Vanessa means without having to ask her and kisses through the connotations that she can taste through the grains.

This isn’t a job.

Vanessa is here on her own accord, and Brooke wants her. 

The look in Vanessa’s eyes tells her she wants her right back and its all the confirmation that Brooke needs to trail her free hand between their bodies. She ghosts her thumb across Vanessa’s hip bones, one at a time, and works her hand lower, Vanessa panting _please_ into the minuscule space between them. 

Brooke thinks that it’s madness. It’s all that she’s wanted, and it’s all that she has. Vanessa is coming apart in her arms and it’s all her doing. She presses the pads of her fingers to Vanessa’s clit and circles slowly. Vanessa’s head tilts back wordlessly and her eyes flutter closed. Brooke keeps her lips connected to Vanessa’s jaw as she slips two fingers inside of her. 

“Oh my god, _shit_ , Jesus”. 

“That’s it”. Brooke coaxes. 

Vanessa’s eyes snap open at the sensation, and it’s only then that Brooke pulls her mouth away. She grins at Vanessa whose eyes are clouded over, blown out in lust. Vanessa tangles her fingers feebly in Brooke’s hair that’s now soaked through, dripping, and pulls her closer still.

Brooke doesn’t know how she manages it but she does. Vanessa grinds her hips down into Brooke’s touch that’s unrelenting, two fingers curled inside of her and heel of her palm providing the pressure that she needs on her clit. Vanessa grapples for all that she gives, and takes it with eager kisses, muscles that clench hot and wet around Brooke. 

“Mami-“. Vanessa gasps. 

“-More”. 

Vanessa pleads like each of Brooke’s fingers is a deep inhale, and each thrust is an exhale that empties her lungs. Brooke guesses that it isn’t far from the truth, and when Vanessa chokes out another _please_ , a further _I need you_ , she slips a third finger inside of her. 

The whine that meets Brooke’s ears is loud, unrestrained, and Brooke fucks her like she can’t remember fucking anybody else. It’s quick, hard, but Brooke pumps her fingers with an intensity that rivals that in Vanessa’s eyes. She understands in the way that Vanessa kisses her before she comes that it’s more. 

_More_.

It’s more than a first kiss that comes a month into their hotel meetings, and more than Brooke telling Vanessa her name moments prior. It’s more than Brooke crying into Vanessa’s shoulder in her office, and more than Nina convincing Brooke to call her, talk to her. It’s more than all of it.

Vanessa kisses her like she means it, and Brooke dares to think that she does. 

“Don’t stop”. Vanessa groans. 

“I won’t”. 

“ _Fuck”_. 

Brooke curls her fingers, keeps them there when she feels Vanessa tighten around her. She has her palm pressed against her clit, and Vanessa clenches, cants her hips downwards. She moans slack jawed into Brooke’s mouth, and Brooke has to remind herself that this is real, this is happening when Vanessa grows limp against her. 

“Brooke”.

“Shh-“. Brooke soothes. 

She retracts her hand slowly, loops it protectively around Vanessa’s other thigh.

“-I’ve got you”. She promises. 

Vanessa nods into her neck, and comes down like a droplet of water on the glass of the shower, with Brooke’s eyes on her, her hands holding her steady. She only sets her down when Vanessa mumbles an _ok_ , braces herself cautiously back on her two feet. Brooke keeps her hands propped on Vanessa’s waist, lets one wander to cup Vanessa’s cheek. 

She tells herself that it’s just in case but then Vanessa is kissing her, again, is breathing out _thank you’s_ that Brooke doesn’t feel like she’s earned. Vanessa gives them to her anyway and Brooke finds herself grinning, beaming as Vanessa catches her breath.

“What you smiling at?”. Vanessa chuckles. 

Brooke shrugs nonchalantly. 

“You ‘wanna go on that date tonight?”. She smirks.

“That’s quick”. Vanessa purses her lips. 

“Too quick?”. 

Brooke thinks that it’s too much until it isn’t.

Vanessa pecks her once.

“Not at all”.

Brooke switches off the shower head, then, turns to Vanessa with a suggestive lilt. She takes a tentative step backwards, wrings out the excess water from her hair and leaves it to hang damp around her face. Vanessa reaches for a curl and tucks it behind her ear, nods when Brooke leans down for a kiss, takes a hand and tugs. 

Her worries wash down the drain with the remnants of Vanessa’s body wash. 

*****

They make it to dinner for nine. 

Brooke argues that it could have been eight if they had tried, though Vanessa contests that the three further orgasms were worth it. Brooke doesn’t have it in her to disagree when the vision of Vanessa, back arched against her mattress and clutching white knuckled at her bedsheets is burned into her mind. 

“ _I know this place that’s maybe half hour away. It’s nice, I think you’ll like it”._

_“I’ll trust you”._

_“Ok”._

_“Ok?”._

_“I’ll have to call them. It can get booked up really easily”._

Brooke takes her to a place that she thinks she’d class as one of her favourites. There’s a three month waiting list but Brooke nabs them a table for two with thirty minutes notice after a minute long phone call. She watches the penny drop in Vanessa’s eyes as to why, and how, and escorts her into the restaurant a cars journey later as the wait staff ogle. 

Vanessa looks - Brooke doesn’t know. 

She sips at a glass of ten-thousand-dollar wine that Brooke had ordered before they’d even sat down, and reclines in her chair. The velvet catches against the fabric of her dress, causes it to ride up, but Brooke entangles their legs beneath the table and it doesn’t matter. 

Vanessa looks - expensive. 

Brooke has money, a lot of it, and isn’t sure what to do with it. But with her eyes trained on Vanessa, her diamond earrings that she has dotted in constellations on her lobes and up to her cartilage, she thinks she may have an idea of where to begin. 

“ _You better be donating somethin’ to charity as well”._

_“Wouldn’t be right if I didn’t”._

_“See, corporate life didn’t fuck you up completely, did it?”._

_“I guess not”._

Vanessa looks - like Vanessa.

Brooke doesn’t want to change her, to alter her stamp that she leaves so clearly on the world surrounding her. She wants to refine it, make it bolder and make it more Vanessa. Brooke thinks that Vanessa is already doing so when after a single prompt she orders whatever, whenever, commands the waiters to their table with a snap of her fingers; It’s in the way that Vanessa does so with gracious _pleases_ and _thank you’s_ that reassures Brooke that she’s cut out for it. 

“ _We’ll take-“._

_“That thing. That looks good, right Brooke?”._

_“Do you even like duck?”._

_“We’ll find out”._

Brooke doesn’t touch the wine, but she does drain lemon juice splashed glasses of water like they’re the only things keeping her from losing her mind. Vanessa has her on the edge of her seat, hanging off of her every word that Brooke’s unable to get enough of. Vanessa nudges her shin like the feeling is mutual and it’s only then that Brooke relaxes entirely. 

“ _I like the duck”._

_“Thought so”._

_“Is that orange?”._

_“Sure is”._

_“I like that, too”._

Vanessa’s giggles grow looser as the night progresses, and when they slip into the back of Brooke’s ride a little after midnight, having tucked wads of cash into their waiters pockets, She moves to rest her head upon Brooke’s shoulder. Her hands come to their homes on Brooke’s thigh and Brooke squeezes at them, feels her multitude of rings clacking against Vanessa’s. 

Brooke isn’t startled, and doesn’t tell her to do otherwise. Vanessa is there, and they’re doing this. She’s pressing barely there kisses to the skin that Brooke’s silk dress exposes, and traces the goosebumps that form in their wake with the tips of her fingers. 

“I never asked-“. Vanessa starts. 

“-How’d you find me?”. 

Her eyes are mischievous and Brooke adores it. She wants to tell Vanessa that she does but it isn’t right, yet. Vanessa is tipsy and rambling aimlessly, asking Brooke questions that Brooke has predictable answers to. Vanessa asks said questions regardless and nods imperceptibly. 

“Nina had your card, said you were an old friend of Yvie’s”. Brooke admits. 

Vanessa nods her head once more, before she lowers it in a daze. She rests it back on Brooke’s shoulder and Brooke lifts a hand, combs it through her hair. Vanessa sighs and Brooke decides then that where this began isn’t important. Because Vanessa is there, and Brooke guesses that she made it out, too. 

“Well-“. Vanessa hiccups. 

“-God fuckin’ bless Nina”. 

Vanessa is barely awake by the time that they make it to Brooke’s apartment. Brooke leads her into the elevator and down the hallway with an arm wrapped protectively around her waist. 

They collapse on Brooke’s bed in a heap of designer gowns and heels that jab at shins. Vanessa rests her head on Brooke’s chest and Brooke’s never felt more content; her heart threatens to break past the confines of her rib cage but it’s not important. 

“Let me tell ‘ya something”. Vanessa mumbles. 

She’s half asleep and Brooke wants to tell her not to worry.

They have time.

As much as they need. 

“Ness-“.

“ _No_ -”. Vanessa interrupts. 

“-Let me tell you. S’good, promise”. 

Brooke sighs, melts into the bed as Vanessa pushes herself up to gaze down at her. Her eyes are flames and they burn right through to Brooke’s skull, so Brooke smiles softly, lets herself become ashes. Vanessa blinks slowly and Brooke thinks that she’s lost her train of thought until she’s kissing at her forehead.

She does it once, doesn’t need to try for more.

“I think I’m, maybe, falling just a tiny-“. Vanessa inhales.

“- _Tiny_ bit in love with you”. 

It’s not a great revelation. 

Brooke’s been thinking it for longer than she cares to admit, and the tenderness, the honesty in Vanessa’s eyes tells her that she has, too. If Vanessa was looking for a verbal response, she doesn’t get one, and Brooke settles for nodding her head.

Vanessa repeats herself. 

_I love you._

And Brooke doesn’t say it back, yet, but she thinks it. 

Vanessa falls asleep with a soft snore.

And Brooke tells her then, whispers it.

_I love you._

Vanessa will wake her up in the morning and tell her that she hadn’t been sleeping at all. 

And Brooke will tell her, again. 

**Author's Note:**

> As usual I’m on tumblr @ silverhytes!


End file.
